


Preconceptions and Perseverance

by Jezmatron



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: AU - Regency, F/F, F/M, Human Characters, Jane Austen attempt, Nobility, ballrooms, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 55,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezmatron/pseuds/Jezmatron
Summary: A new tenant has taken residence in the estate at Thaymor - and all the local families of quality are looking to impress.The Moons, a family of minor gentry of the Etherian nobility, are among those who wish to make an impression, to secure happiness and security for their beloved daughters.But this new tenant brings a friend, the curt and reserved Adam. And Catra, the willfull, stubborn and much loved daughter of Mr and Mrs Moon, finds herself, completely against her normal attractions, drawn to this.... man?A tale inspired by the art of: @adooboo1 on twitter.Here's the tweet that inspired this:https://twitter.com/adooboo1/status/1308809251565875200
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra), Mermista/Sea Hawk (She-Ra), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 727
Kudos: 552





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I am shamelessly riffing off of Pride and Prejudice for this. YES this is a sort of "prologue" chapter to test my skills and the water. I will deviate, of course, but want to have a fun, chatty story along the lines of Lizzie and Darcy but with a TWIST (of course!)
> 
> So yeah... this one will update slower than my other ones, if only because its style is SO markedly different, whilst I try to retain their voices.

It is a truth held to be so overt as to be universal that a woman is forever wanting a man with wealth. Likewise, that an unmarried man in possession of even a moderate fortune is in want of a wife.

Thus do the political spheres of the nation orbit and wheel, driving the gears of heritage and social mores.

Rarely acknowledged is that, occasionally, wealth is the mere byproduct and there is merely the aspect of a woman in want of another to mirror her. A countenance reflected in like and symmetry, akin to the sun and moon in their endeavours, but forever in one another’s circle.

Of course, these facts, theories and auspices are not to be even catalogued this early; instead we must focus on the fact that, regardless of the mores of the souls involved, a community will take a record of notables entering their neighbourhood. These facts, such as they are, are so well fixed in the mind that it is assumed any eligible man is as yet unannounced property of one or more of the eligible women of said neighbourhood.

It was with all this in mind that Angella found herself accosted during her morning letters and land survey.

“My dear Mrs Moon,” said her love, her light, her one and only, “I have auspicious news.”

She glanced over from her stack of papers and the ordnance survey maps, then drew a breath slowly and gently queried, with a faint smile, that she was all ears.

“Have you heard that the Thaymor Estate is let?”

She acknowledged that she had not.

“And, sad as I am to relate this, dear Castaspella has heard the news before us!”

Mrs Moon quirked a smile but glanced back at her current correspondence briefly.

“Do you not wish to know the news?”

She turned in her chair, away from her desk, then smiled up at her husband, “”You wish to tell me, my love and I have no objections to hearing.”

Micah smiled fondly back at her and clapped his hands before him. His hair was drawn back in a ponytail and his beard was neatly trimmed - his countenance and bearing were poised, but he positively vibrated with excitement. He sighed briefly then spoke, “Well, you must know that Casta divined from Mr Lashor that Thaymor is taken by a young man from the west of Etheria. He, apparently, came down with a full carriage to review the property.”

“Indeed?” Angella nodded indulgently.

“Yes, quite! I have it on good authority that he was best pleased with the place and he agreed with Mr Harris and will take possession before the Solstice. Apparently, the servants are already likely to be in place before the weeks end!”

That got an approving inclination of the head from Angella, “Well now, that is definitely news of import. And the gentleman’s name?”

“Mr. Archer.”

“Hmmm. Single?”

“To be sure! And a man of suitable fortune,” he sighed, “What a fine thing for our girls!”

“How so? How can this affect them?”

“Oh dear, you can be most vexing. You must comprehend I have designs of him marrying one of them?”

Angella twiddled her thumbs and smiled, maintaining her raised eyebrows and effected an expression of surprise, “Is that  _ his _ design on settling here?”

Micah waved a hand, “Design! How can you talk so? But love! Ah love, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility. And for that reason, you must visit him as soon as he arrives.”

“My heart, my love, my life…. I see no victory from that! Surely better for the girls to call upon him? Or even yourself. You are the handsome one afyer all…. Though this Archer might like you best of the party…” he made a mock scowl and Angella’s smile broadened. Micah gave a long suffering sigh and leaned across the gap to tap his wife on the knee

“You flatter me as always, my love. But for a man who has raised five such daughters… it does wear on one. No, I am not as well to do now, surpassed by my own girls! And of course, outshone by you.”

“Nonsense. Not that our girls are not wonderful. But you, my dear, always draw the eye!”

“So you will call upon Mr Archer?”

“It is more than I could trouble myself for. The girls are grown, independent….”

“Ah, but consider them! What advantage, what establishment for one of them! Castaspella is taking Perfuma for just such a reason!”

“There you have it! Casta is going! So, follow her example, my love.”

“You know as well as I do…. That Casta does not have a... partner to accompany her.”

Angella smiled faintly, “Indeed not. You aren’t scandalised by that are you? Still?”

“Well, it is…. Not as expected.”

“The young women at the old rectory do not surprise you so much anymore.”   


“Spinnerella is… yes she is good company for Bridge. As is her… Friend”, Angella smiled and rolled her eyes, and Micah chuckled, “You  _ know _ I care not for that. Love is love… I just… Casta is a  _ single _ mother, so must partake of all actions.”

“So, why must I  _ partake _ of a visit? I can write a missive, you may take it, providing carte blanche for any of the girls… save Frosta of  _ course _ … should he find suitable appeal and they in him. Of course…” she winced faintly, “Catra may take some additional caveat… as well as persuasion.”

Micah huffed, but not with irritation, “You worry overmuch. Catra is no better nor worse. She is… Catra.”

“But she does share some… traits with your bridge partners, my love. That may make her  _ inimical _ towards a marriage.”

“Yes… well, she may have to… secure her future first, then consider her attachments second.”

Angella couldn’t help but smirk and covered her mouth, “My dearest, how scandalous to suggest our Catra both  _ obey _ a stricture  _ and _ then follow her predilections once secured! I scarce comprehend your turn here…” her smile became a cheeky smirk.

Micah swatted at her again, “My love, we are lucky. Many have…. Arrangements. We are in an enlightened age, to be sure. But you are belabouring the point!”

“If I am to barter for our girls, I must make an effort to sell them. They are headstrong, authoritative. A  _ challenge _ for any man daring enough.”

“How can you speak of our girls so, you vex my nerves, my love. No compassion!”

She snorted in response and swatted Micah back, “Not hardly, my dear. I learned long ago that yours are of  _ steel _ . And my compassion for our girls goes beyond merely farming them off. I wish to see them  _ happy _ .”   


“Even if our own meagre finances dwindle?”

“Hardly meagre, my love. But, to ensure their contentment… yes.”

Micah reached across the gap and took her hand, “Capricious you are not, my love. I fear, should there be twenty such men as Mr Archer, we would see naught for you will not visit them,” his smile was teasing and Angella scoffed.

“I would visit them all to have that smile, my love. Also, a chance to finish my letters. Be assured, it is in my agenda. BUT I still think you are better presented to do the calling. You are always such a better first impression.”

Such a strange mixture: Micah Moon, with his gentle sarcasm and wry wit, along with a compassion and gentility that marked him as relatively unique among the landed men of the region. Angella, his beloved, a rock in a sea of changing gossip and household chaos that came with five young women; her care offset by her determination. Her certainty and sense of duty that pushed her to the fore of much of the region’s societal wrangling.

Their task was assured - to guarantee a future for their girls, as positive as they could make it, to ensure none met penury and disappointment.

A challenge beset by the very nature of their girls and their wilful disregard for propriety, decorum and any sense of normalcy.

\---------------------

Whilst Angella had every faith in her husband, she was well aware of his predilection for being  _ side tracked.  _ Or for wandering. His mind was attracted to the natural sciences and so, upon the following morning, with nary a sight of the man, Angella found herself pacing along the gravel pathway that led to their manor. A pair of serving staff stood by, awkward whilst the girls fretted over their clothing, whilst Angella fretted - she had every faith in her husband but now pondered whether she  _ should _ have travelled to the Thaymor Estate to make the call. Either Micah would have gotten distracted or he would get enthused whilst there and might not be back for hours.

They were due to visit the local village of Brightmoon, which was on their estate - a minor affair by comparison to some, but still substantial to support their family.

Angella paused in her pacing to review her girls - a fine and wonderful collection as ever there was. The eldest, Mermista, with her brows pursed as if in intense thought, her arms folded as she regarded the gravel beneath her, the sun marking her teal dress like the shimmer of the ocean; Catra in her maroon dress with her thick boots clearly with a mind to wander as soon as her mother’s attention was elsewhere; Entrapta with her nose in yet another journal, eyes glazed at the romance within. And young Frosta who glared at the servants as if personally affronted.

Angella frowned, “Dears… where is Glimmer?”

Catra bit her lip and coughed, “Um… well….”

Angella zeroed in on the girl, her own grey eyes fixed on the blue and gold of her daughter’s own, “Yes?”

“She went on ahead,” supplied Catra. Angella sighed.

“She doesn’t wish to go to the village?”

Catra splayed her hands, her voice honeyed, “Of  _ course _ she does, mama.”

“And she asked you to cover for her?”

Catra grinned sheepishly. Behind her, Mermista smirked and rolled her eyes. Catra scuffed her boot, “I think… she wanted to maybe…”   


“She’s still in bed.”

“She’s still in bed,” confirmed Catra as she melted under Angella’s fixed stare.

The tall woman sighed, then entered the double doors at the front of the mansion, then bellowed up the stairs, “ _ Glimmah!  _ Get down here RIGHT now! If the other girls can muster the energy and poise, then you better bloody well do so too!”

Outside, Catra winced. That was likely one set of chores she now owed Glimmer. She was able to maintain her poise in  _ most _ circumstances. But when fixed with the searchlight stare of her mother, nothing was achievable when consideration was given to falsehood.

A few moments later, with Angella rigid with irritation by the door, Glimmer emerged into the sunlight. She rolled her eyes at Catra, who managed a helpless shrug in return, then gestured to their mother.

For her part, their mother shot Glimmer a disapproving glance, “You may wish to apportion fault to your sister. She did  _ attempt _ to waylay my suspicions, so do not fault her, Fault yourself, Glimmer. It is  _ important _ we are seen, that we pay attention to our wards and charges.”

The recalcitrant daughter hunched and hiffed, her pink and blue dress and petticoats ruffled from the haste of dressing. Her hair was bedecked with purple and pink threads, to highlight the dyes she used. Angella spoke to them all about proper decorum, then turned. She was about to begin their walk when a figure appeared at the entry to the drive and began to saunter up. Catra smiled fondly and glanced at Glimmer.

“So, father looks smug.”

“Up to see the new fancy in his manor, so I heard,” vouchsafed her sister. She didn’t look impressed, “Another man for whom we must prance and fawn.”   


“ _ You  _ must dance and fawn, oh Sparkling one. I’m in no rush. Nor have I any particular desire to shackle myself to one of them. How  _ unsatisfying _ . A shame no fair maid meets my exacting requirements,” hummed Catra.

Glimmer nudged her with a grumbled, “You are the  _ worst _ ,” but she followed it with a fond smile, “And thank you for at least  _ trying _ with mother.”

“Well, I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Truly, the pair were night and day - Catra’s caramel complexion in stark contrast to Glimmer’s paler skin, but not as defined as Mermista’s countenance. As mixed and marked a group as any in the region, yet none so beloved. Their familial connections not by blood, but by love and the determination and loyalty of their parents.

“My ladies! Off to the village?” Micah strode forth as his coattails trailed behind him, “Well, may i steal a moment of your time before you abandon me for greater things?”

Angella smiled and embraced her husband, which elicited a coughing fit from Frosta as she masked the work  _ gross _ beneath her exhortations. Mermista slapped her hard on the back and Frosta wheezed. Micah chuckled and glanced past Angella, “I see the girls are in fine form.”

“Barring Glimmer’s attempt at truancy, I believe they are prepared for a morning’s exercise.”

“Well, I merely wish to inform you that a visitation has taken place. Good day!”

He bustled past and Angella blinked in surprise. Then, as one, the girls flooded after their father, exhorting for more information. Catra and Glimmer exchanged a glance, then followed the tide of women as they badgered their chuckling father.

Angella and Frosta were at the fore, chattering with questions, “So, what was his disposition? His contemplation of the possibilities?”

“Mr Archer is a fine gentleman… did you not have errands, my love? I feel as if I am keeping you?” smiled Micah. Angella huffed and shook her head, then waved at Mermista.

“Talk some sense into your father.”

The tall girl pursed her lips, then shrugged, “Uhhhhhh, well, not that I  _ care _ but… was he, at least,  _ polite _ .”

“A gentler man I have not yet met, I must say,” grinned Micah as he led his small coterie into the main drawing room. He flopped into his chair and reached for the gazette, but it was pinned in place by Angella’s hand as she leaned forwards. Before she could speak, Entrapta flopped onto the floor in front of Micah’s chair and pulled her gaze from her book, eyes wide.

“Does he have  _ passions _ ? Hobbies? Was there  _ tiny food _ ?”

Micah grinned and leaned forward, “Mr Archer, it appears, has a fascination with things mechanical, my dear.”

“OHHHH! A partner perhaps! For exciting explorations of the  _ sciences _ !” squealed the purple-locked girl. Her own clothing was more rustic, leaning towards  _ workmanlike _ in its utility, a stark contrast to the rugged yet still presentable affairs of her siblings. Micah gently reached out and paused his hand near to Entrapta. She blinked and gave a faint nod and he patted her shoulder. She smiled, “I am the most mechanically able! Perhaps he will find me… suitable?”

“Mayhap, my dear. I think it is safe to say Mr Archer is a  _ gentleman _ and deserving of a chance for  _ all _ of you to engage upon.”

Angella leaned back and sighed, “A relief. You did not tarry overmuch?”

“No, he is still in the midst of his relocation. A genuine fellow, however and a welcoming host. He also vouchsafed that he would be at the ball a fortnight hence. Perhaps an opportunity to formally introduce ourselves in a more strict setting?”

Angella arched an eyebrow, “Ever the socialite, Mr Moon.”

He smiled up at her, “I merely learned from the best, my love.”   


At the rear of the room, Catra had sat and pulled her notebook from a side table. She began to idly sketch the scene before her - mother, ramrod straight, but smiling; Entrapta, sat at father’s feet. Father, smiling up at his wife. A gentle scene. She glanced up as Mermista flounced into a chair next to her, “You seem… more vexed than usual.”

“I am  _ not _ vexed. I am  _ perturbed _ .”

“Same difference, sister mine.”   


“I mean… I get why you and Glimmer are sick of these, but how do you think  _ I feel _ . I’m eldest and  _ nothing _ . You two, you don’t  _ care _ about love.”

Catra sighed and lowered her notebook, then glared at Mermista, “I do care. I just don’t care about love with a  _ man _ . What do they have to offer?”

“Wealth, security, societal stability, duh… and the obvious,” Mermista listed the options on her fingers and shrugged, “Plus…. Children,” the eldest sister blushed faintly and shrugged. Catra snorted.

“That is hardly a list of positives, y’know? I can get that from a woman…”

“But… it’s  _ harder _ Catra,” Mermista sat up and clutched her hand, “Yes, things are  _ better _ now. But it’s still… difficult. We’re not the North, obviously, not as repressed. But, it’s a hard choice.”

Catra nodded curtly, “Then it must be worth making. Nothing worth having is easy.”

“Stop trying to persuade her. She’s made up her mind. And you know how she gets,” Glimmer sat on the chair’s armrest and draped an arm around Catra fondly, “Why shackle yourself to something just to make others happy?”

Mermista rolled her eyes and looked away, “Yeah… but what if it makes  _ me _ happy?”

Her two sisters tilted their heads in sympathy. Glimmer spoke up, “It’ll happen, fret not. We _ all _ wish to marry for love, Mer,” Catra chuckled and Glimmer’s pointed gaze made her just shrug in response, “Those of us who  _ wish _ to marry. This just all feels so forced. But maybe… maybe this Archer has a spare eligible man in his cupboards, should he not meet your fancy. Or if Entrapta doesn’t set fire to his home. ”

Catra snorted, “AH HA! Remember that time with Mr Lashor’s field?”

Mermista shook her head, “We said we would never speak of those events again.”

The sound of their laughter floated through the house, a merry sound to brighten an afternoon. Thoughts of village errands were forgotten, as discussion turned to the potential for eligible matches and the activity of the coming weeks.

  
  



	2. A Gentleman Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Archer receives another visitor.
> 
> A chance encounter in the woods for the young ladies.

Timing, as is so often posited among the learned class, is everything. Had Micah been a mere twenty minutes later in his calling, he would have chanced upon a second meeting that could have garnered further impressive information for his family. However, Micah, ever being an eager and enthusiastic sort, filled with love for his family, had made it a priority to call on Mr Archer early in the morning, as part of his morning constitution.

He had found Mr Archer to be an amiable fellow, a wit and gracious host. He had declined an extended luncheon invitation, begging his extensive family as a reason, but promised to return at a more agreeable time and with proper notice. He also extended an invitation for tea at Mr Archer’s earliest convenience.

Mr Archer, being an agreeable soul, had answered that he would be delighted, but that he was expected in Elberon for the next weekend to finalise some familial affairs. However, he promised to visit the family a five days hence, to acquaint himself better with them and the area, the residents of Brightmoon Manor being well familiar with the environs, people and happenings of their community.

And thus, Micah departed, to be the bearer of auspicious news. He did note, upon his leaving the grand gardens of the Thaymor Manor that a rider approached at a sedate pace across the fields, but he paid it no mind - a bracing afternoon on horseback wasn’t an unfamiliar pastime and was even one he indulged in. A shame none of his girls were so enamoured of the activity.

And so, this was how Micah missed his first introduction, and perhaps perfect opportunity, to acquaint himself with one _Adam_ De Gray.

\----

Following the Mr Moon's departure, Mr Archer found himself with a morning free to pursue his favoured activity - archery. It was a rather archaic practice, considering the advent of the more advanced flintlock, but he felt moved to maintain the practice. He had several rational reasons for this, but primarily as it allowed him to indulge the fresh air. It was also one of the reasons he had acquired the rather daunting prospect that was Thaymor Manor

For one, the gardens offer ample opportunity for a range, moreso than his lodgings with his parents back in Elberon. Whilst he enjoyed the cosmopolitan bustle and the many _many_ opportunities afforded a gentleman of means, he had felt himself unchallenged and, if he was truly honest, rather suffocated.

Being the near youngest of an eclectic collection of siblings had left him with few opportunities to distinguish himself; he was no academic, no great Officer of the military forces and opportunities within the clergy had not appealed.

And so, he had taken his not-insubstantial worth (4,000 a year, so the current local gossip ran) and had decided to make his mark. The grounds also had a number of vacant stables and outbuildings, which would allow him ample opportunity to indulge his other fascinations, which were seen as unbecoming of a man of supposed leisure. But here, in the countryside, among the working man and woman, such activities could be a _boon_ rather than the oddity among the salons and cafes of Elberon.

With a spring in his step, Mr Archer walked from the tiled hallway and into the morning sunshine. His path led him to the main lawn, which was a vast affair, split from the main house by a small, ornamental garden made up of low hedges, topiary and flower beds. In all honesty, it was a calming place.

A bevvy of servants had established his range as per his morning request and he moved to remove his coat to hand to a waiting orderly.

After several warm up shots (All, he noted with no small pride, on target at one hundred yards) a voice jolted him from his focus.

“Beauregard!”

A figure advanced across the lawn, from the direction of the house. They paused momentarily to brush the gathered road dust from their cream jodhpurs, then swept forwards in blur of grey and red as their coattails billowed behind them. The approaching figure brought a smile to Mr Archer’s face.

“ADO---” Mr Archer paused momentarily as he regarded his servant but he smoothly continued, “RRRM. ADAM, my goodness a _surprise_! Your correspondence indicated at least a day hence before your arrival my friend!”

The figure drew nearer to reveal a set of mirthful blue eyes and hair cropped messily into a tousled mess. A face that seemed sharp, rather effete for a masculine countenance. That was offset by the rather solid build, which still seemed slight for the tall individual. They grinned at Mr Archer and glanced at the servant.

“I must confess, I found myself with little to occupy my mind. And my Aunt was pressing, once more. So, I thought it best to arrive ahead, before you summon your main party. Which, I assume, from the eagerness of your fathers, is imminent?”

“You called upon them?”

“I did indeed - I believe they are _still_ awaiting a formal invitation!”

Mr Archer exhaled a rather ungentlemanly huff, “Upon my honour Adddd-AM. I have every intention of returning to Elberon to fetch the family. I explained as much to Mr Moon!”

The new comer arched an eyebrow, “Mr Moon?”

“A member of the local gentry and a most agreeable fellow!”

“And what was Mr Moon's rationale for such an early call?” the arched eyebrow graced Mr De Gray's face. Mr Archer laughed, then turned to the servant.

“Carlisle, would you be so good as to set up tea in the drawing room. Mr De Gray has had an arduous ride, no doubt. Also, if you would be as good to set up the second guest room,” he glanced at his companion for confirmation and received an approving nod as agreement to the suggestion, “We will be along shortly.”

The servant bowed and whisked away. Mr Archer, having retrieved his coat, gestured to Mr De Gray in a manner that indicated they should walk. His companion inclined his head and they paced the lawn. After a momentary pause, Mr De Gray pressed once more for the rationale of the visitation.

“Ad _am_ , I am a newcomer to the area. It would be discourteous if they did _not_ call. You are well familiar to your fellows in the vicinity of Greyvale House, such things are not in your agenda. Even if it would assist in your standing…”

The chiding note in his voice elicited little more than a derisive exhalation from De Gray who responded with an exhortation that such activities were pointless among the wheedling nobility of region. And the fact that the _locals_ here might have nefarious designs upon Mr Archer's own particulars. Mr De Gray received a snort as Mr Archer continued:

“Even so, making time for others is not time wasted, my dear friend. And I would like to assess these people before besmirching their reputations! I trust you will be gracing my new abode whence we return with my entourage?”

Mr De Gray reassured Mr Archer that this was the case. Indeed, their purpose had been to accompany Mr Archer to and from.

“It seems excessive, a journey from town to here, back and forth.”

“My whims are my own, Beauregard,” mused Mr De Gray with a smile.

“I do wish you would use my nom de plume as in our correspondences. This overt formality is most disagreeable!”

“It is a vulgar abbreviation,” the expression upon Mr De Gray’s countenance could only be described as a smirk, indicating a lack of any real malice in the words, "And your breezy approach to structure is most disagreeable!" he continued with what was almost crowing mirth.

“You are a fine one to comment upon nomenclature choice, my friend.”

Mr De Gray waved a hand irritably and returned it behind their back, “Sheer necessity, what with the fancies of greedy men and women. My choices are pragmatic.”

Mr Archer vouchsafed that such decisions were not entirely of Mr De Gray’s choosing, which earned him a mild rebuke.

“All I am expanding upon is that we are an enlightened society. My fathers, for example! And I have it on good authority that there are a pair of ladies who are acknowledged,” and here, Mr Archer leaned in, “ _Friends of Mara_.”

Mr De Gray was a person of poise and bearing, so it could not be that they stumbled. Not at all. Nor that they flushed, whether it be via scandalised appreciation at this information or some other affectation.

“You jest sir!”

“Upon my honour, I do not. Mr Moon was confiding such truth to me this morning. He appraised me that I would likely receive several visitations _but_ was decent in not colouring my opinion prior to their arrival.”

“You still have not elaborated upon his purpose _sir_.”

“An invitation to call upon him. Though I find I am rather… intimidated.”

“By a polite gentleman who advises you of local _Friends of Mara_ ,” once more, the expression of mirth lingered towards smirking upon Mr De Gray’s features.

“By the fact that the gentleman has _five_ daughters.”

That drew a genuine laugh from Mr De Gray, who proceeded to slap his comrade upon the shoulder in a manner most unbecoming of polite gentlemen in a public setting, “I thought you were steering to be _far_ from extended family, not to add to your collection!”

“Adam… do we _have_ to use that ridiculous name?”

“Only within polite company. I have explained my rationale, _Bow_. I cannot be swayed. The honour of Grayvale and the maintenance of my family holdings is paramount.”

“Surely the securing of…”

“No, my friend. The likelihood of skulduggery to ascertain and acquire my family fortune is a reality. And as long as I draw breath, I will not see it besmirched… as someone almost achieved. And likewise, with you! Beware, for these handsome ladies and their amiable father may not be bearing the kindness you expect.”

Mr Archer raised a hand in quiet supplication, for there truly was little hope of changing the mind of his dearest friend on this topic, “I wish you would open yourself up to the possibility of love.”

Mr De Gray gestured across the lawns towards the boundary of the property, “Is that the potential to which you tilt yourself with these myriad associations in your future?”

“Five daughters, Adam. FIVE.”

“A gold piece says you will be danced to death before the solstice.”

“Wagering upon my future happiness! You, my friend, are a villain!”

The smile Mr De Gray gave to Mr Archer was almost scandalous in its mirth. Adam pushed further.

“Will you not take the wager, sir?”

Mr Archer squared himself up next to his old friend and arched an eyebrow. The sunlight of the morning brought his neatly combed hair and dark skin into sharp relief beneath the rays that dappled a nearby oak.

“Not upon that. It is unseemly to make light of affairs of the heart. YOU should be more aware of that.”

Mr De Gray studied his friend then acquiesced, “You have the right of it. My jest was merely at the _bevvy_ of opportunity you apparently have before you.”

“And dare you contemplate the possibility of your own entanglement?”

“Hardly. After the… incident, my foremost concern is the maintenance of the holdings and the security of my family. Any furtherance of romantic affectation is a mere _distraction_.”

“You sound like your aunt, my friend.”

This accusation drew a minor shudder from Mr De Gray, “Unfortunately, even a broken timepiece can be correct twice a day. On this matter, well, she has the right of it.”

“But have you considered the possibility that… she will seize your holdings without you guaranteeing an heir?”

“And, given my nature, my friend, how am I to do that? We have conversed on this topic before.In my current circumstance I am not dragged by society into some unbidden arrangement _and_ I am able to maintain an independence from the _Aunt_ . Despite our society’s _progression_ some tradition still pushes its way forth. Also, I am able to protect the family from further scandal.”

Mr Archer nodded slowly, “It merely strikes me as… deeply tragic, my friend.”

“We do what we must, for family, Bow,” Mr De Gray laid a companionable hand upon Mr Archer’s shoulder. The smile upon their countenance was only marginally sad, “And let us not speak of melancholy things. You still have a Manor to show me! Also, I am rather parched and you did promise tea.”

The heavy topic banished, the pair made their way back across the lawns, laughing as Mr De Gray relayed a description of an incident involving a mutual acquaintance, a butler and a large sack of flour.

\-----------------------

Catra enjoyed walking; truly it was second only to climbing. Well, actually third. Second to climbing. And then THIRD to reading. And climbing was second to reading. Frankly, if it came down to it, she would prefer to walk to a tree, climb it and then read. True, her reading was naught so earnest as dear Entrapta’s, nor her enthusiasm for hiking as ardent as Glimmer’s, but it was an entertainment she was fond of.

The surrounds of their estate were not vast, but the expanse of fields and woods provided ample opportunity to exercise and take in the quiet of nature.

Currently, she was accompanying Glimmer on a tour of the local woodland, having decided that berry picking was an afternoon’s entertainment worth their time. As they walked, Glimmer moaned at the possibility of the upcoming ball.

“Catra, I do not know what to _do_ with myself. Why am I so _afluster_?”

“The potential to court the newest gentleman in the neighbourhood appears to have addled your mind, sister Sparkle dearest,” Catra’s tone was gentle, teasing, with a slight chuckle to offset it. Glimmer’s riposte was an eye roll.

“This is easy for you. You retreat and ensconce yourself with a bevvy and some affectation of a cold or some rot. Your airs maintain the distance! Such peace! I envy it.”

“Just glare at them, Glimmer dear. Also, I could not countenance entertaining a man for some paltry dance.”

“It is _expected_.”

“And I cannot fathom _why_ ? To dance for their entertainment?”

“And yours! The dancing can be in and of itself, Catra.”

“But still, it would involve the entertainment of a _gentleman_.”

A sigh from Glimmer drew Catras gaze from the bush that she was currently acting her own minor frustrations on, tearing the berries free as if they had personally affronted her. She regarded her pink-haired sister and exhaled. Glimmer, for her own part, placed her basket upon the bluebells that scattered throughout the woods.

“And why would that be a _bad_ outcome? You would not be betrothed, nor have any expectations placed upon you. It is a manner similar to merely eating at a table adjacent to a man! You do so with father and there are no ill effects. You have not yet sprung up in boils from his affections!”

Catra’s laugh drew a genuine smile from her sister and the brown-haired girl nodded slowly.

“You make an excellent point. Even though…. We are not of blood relation, father has not yet reduced me to a wreck, so perhaps I can tolerate the attentions of some of the attendees.”

“It would certainly not commit you to anything. Although it may tarnish your reputation for surliness among the men of the county.”

“I am not surly. I am merely _cultured_ ,” Catra’s exaggerated flick of her hair served to enhance this point and elicited another giggle from Glimmer, “Anyway, I may not dance, lest I draw Mr Archer’s attention away from _you_.”

“Well, as father said, he will call upon us for tea in four days! Post the weekend.”

“Careful, Glimmer. Lest your hopes rise to be stolen by Entrapta! She understands him to have an interest in things mechanical, she may have a plan!” Catra’s smile was jovial and her arched expression conveyed a teasing air. Glimmer merely sniffed in response.

“Entrapta is not a planner. We know this. Otherwise the fourth stable would not currency be firewood.”

“This is... a statement that is true,” conceded Catra, “But still! Her womanly wiles!”

The pair gazed at each other then erupted into peals of laughter. They collected their baskets and made for the main road back to the village. They were startled by a clatter of hooves and paused as a rider drew near, fifty yards from the edge of the wood.

He was tall, and his jodhpurs and cream coat were marked with streaks of green from a clear encounter with low branches. And yet his top hat remained affixed, albeit at a faintly jaunty angle. His skin was the colour dark oak and he looked momentarily lost as he turned in the saddle. His face appeared startled as he regarded the two women. Catra took a tentative step forwards, which put her slightly between Glimmer and the stranger.

“Oh! My goodness, my apologies ladies! I am… _directionally embarrassed_ ,” the gentleman reached up and tilted the brim of his hat towards the women. After a moment they curtsied, “Mr Beauregard Archer, at your service. Or perhaps you would be kind enough to be at mine. I appear to have gotten rather turned around.”

Glimmer peered at the man, who glanced at her and then froze. They stared at one another for a beat as Catra glanced betwixt them, momentarily lost. She managed a genteel cough and nudged her sister as subtly as she could. The pink haired girl harrumphed and nodded.

“Mr Archer, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Ms Glimmer Moon, of the Brightmoon Estate. May I introduce my sister, Catra Moon.”

“Oh my stars, my most humble apologies,” the man covered his face for a moment and his horse whickered and backed up briefly, “Incredibly rude of me. A _pleasure_. I have had the pleasure of speaking with your father. Please do convey my thanks at his exceedingly kind welcome to the area. I am most looking forward to calling upon you in less harried circumstances.”

Catra couldn’t help but smile wryly, “Harried, sir? Whatever for? We are in a most peaceful enclave!”

“Ah! You jest, but I am mortally embarrassed. My friend will not let me live this down.”

The ladies exchanged a glance, confused, “Please, elaborate, sir,” offered Glimmer.

“I challenged my guest to a race to the main highway to Elberon, however I found myself rather turned about in the woods. I am not accustomed to so much greenery!”

“A cultured gentleman such as yourself is turned about by mere trees?” scoffed Catra. Glimmer elbowed her with a hiss.

For his part Mr Archer looked amused and a little contrite, “Living in a town where streets are easily marked and landscapes distinct, with clear landmarks does, I must admit, lead one to have a rather biased appraisal of things.”

Another set of hooves made the women turn partially. A large white horse cantered through the trees, the rider in similar attire to Mr Archer, albeit in grey and red, which seemed to clash dramatically with the surrounding green. A scarf was across their face but Catra almost flinched at the steel blue eyes as they raked across the pair. The voice was muffled beneath the wrap, “Really, Beauregard, gallivanting after local maids? A paltry excuse for losing if ever there was one.”

The tone set Catra’s hackles to rising. She tilted her chin and regarded the newcomer, “You have the advantage of us, _sir_.”

Those blue eyes locked back onto her, “Do I? I was not here for introductions.”

Mr Archer chuckled nervously, “Mr De Gray, may I present Ms Glimmer Moon and Ms Catra Moon. Two of the daughters of Mr Moon who, you will recall, called upon me yesterday in a most generous and kind welcome.”

“Indeed, I recall the conversation,” the blue eyes regarded Mr Archer, then turned back to the women, appraising. A gloved hand tilted the rider’s grey top hat, “Ladies.”

“They were about to be kind enough to direct me to the road.”

“Really, Beauregard. I’ve been here less time than you and I have already ascertained the lay of the land,” the tone was light, teasing and the voice sounded slightly off to Catra’s ear, though she couldn’t ascertain _why_. The blue eyes regarded the women again, “Auspicious you should be out near Mr Archer’s estates.”

“If you wish to imply something, say it plainly _sir_ ,” Catra glared at the man, who still had not removed their scarf. The rider turned the white horse about and studied her for a moment, then looked back to Mr Archer.

“The road is half a mile _that_ way, which you would know if you looked up from your books whilst travelling. Now, ladies, please excuse us. We are expected in town.”

“You will _ride_ there?” exclaimed Glimmer. The blue eyes seemed nonplussed and Mr Archer just chuckled.

“Mr De Gray garners an absurd level of enjoyment from punishing _him_ self on horseback.”

“A carriage is interminably boring,” scoffed the scarf wearing rider.

“Only boring people get bored,” challenged Catra as she glared at Mr De Gray. She felt herself scrutinised again and the rider nodded.

“Perhaps. Or maybe the bored person merely finds nothing as engaging in their surroundings to excite the mind? Such simple reductions do not indicate a measured assessment of what humanity has to offer. Mere aphorism.”

Catra arched an eyebrow and snorted, “A cultured mind would find a way to excite itself without external stimuli. To expect entertainment is the height of arrogance.”

“And to reduce the world to absolutes is naive in the extreme, madame,” Catra huffed at the amused tone in the voice of the rider, “My thanks, ladies, for the unexpected _entertainment_. We will delay your afternoon no more. Beauregard.”

The rider turned their white charger and cantered away. Mr Archer huffed and looked at the women, “My apologies. Mr De Gray is a rather impatient sort,” he gazed after his companion and, thought Catra, appeared contemplative, “Though that was strangely conversational… yes well, my thanks, ladies, and my apologies for intruding upon your day. May I say I _am_ looking forward calling upon you in less vexatious circumstances.”

“I trust you will _not_ be bringing Mr De Gray?” Catra challenged and Glimmer’s hurried interjection overlapped the end of her statement.

“Of course, he would be welcome!”

Mr Archer laughed, a genuine sound, “My thanks, Ms Moon,” his eyes locked onto Glimmer and his bearing became almost nervous, “I feel that would be a gross overstep of your father’s invitation. Though I will allow Mr De Gray to make their own presentation should they muster the mannerisms!”

Glimmer smiled at that and Catra couldn’t help but chuckle at Mr Archer’s chiding tone, directed toward the departed Mr De Gray. They watched as the man turned his own horse and with a tip of his hat, cantered away after the surly rider. Catra spared her sister a glance then allowed her eyes to roll expansively.

“Goodness, you could replace the berries around here with your own rosy complexion.”

“Oh HUSH! I could see you exchanging the eyes with Mr De Gray. A MAN no less!”

Catra’s derisive snort could almost have echoed, “Hardly. A brutish and arrogant sort. Did you see the way he _inspected_ us? Like meat at a market! No, I feel I will not be making _Mr De Gray’s_ acquaintance. And not just because he is of the male persuasion! Such insufferable rudeness!”

“Well, you were hardly a picture of agreement yourself.”

“I believe you will ascertain that _he_ started it.”

This elicited a smile from Glimmer who shook her head, “A shame. There certainly seemed to be something there.”

“Well, if there was, Mr De Gray will be in for a rude shock, won’t he? But enough about my unlucky paramour, let’s talk about _yours_. You practically SWOONED.”

Catra threaded an arm through Glimmer’s and together they headed towards the village, giggling as they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, all to the good!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this - wanted to get Adora introduced!
> 
> And I wonder why she's so surly about people courting or their motives...and who could the AUNT possibly be ;)
> 
> Also, is she DARCY ENOUGH in her attitude currently? And I hope Catra has maintained some of her snark in this iteration!
> 
> As ever, feedback is GREATLY appreciated!


	3. Opinion and Intention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sisters deliberate on their fancies and Mr Archer pays them a visit.

Micah was not a  _ wreck _ per se. Rather he was an agitated ball of anticipation as he paced before the fireplace. Angella sat in her preferred chair and merely arched an eyebrow at her ambulating husband.

“Dearest, your nerves will wear a trench into the carpeting.”

“Are you not eager, my love? We stand at the precipice! The  _ potential, the cusp even,  _ of new love!”

Angella regarded him fondly then smiled, “Are you speaking for your daughters or yourself. I must say, you appear quite taken yourself with the gentleman!”

“Madame! My eyes are only for you! You jest, my lady, you jest, but I would be remiss if I did not state that Mr Archer is a man of fine bearing and excellent humour. I am eager to ensure he is quite taken with one of our girls.”   
  


Glimmer, who was sat with a mess of embroidery in her lap, frowned at her father, “Are chattel, to be palmed off on the first eligible gentleman?”

“Dear, no. And I thought  _ you _ rather cordial to the idea at least,” smiled Micah, “More my motivation is the security of your hearts. A gentleman such as Mr Archer is a man of means  _ and _ bearing. Such a combination is rare.”   
  


Angella reached out and Micah took her hand. She chuckled and shook her head, “Right you are, my love. I was fortunate indeed to bewitch you.”

“Truly, I was lost upon Castaspella introducing you to me. I thank the gods daily, my love,” Micah bent and kissed her hand, which brought a faint flush to Angella’s cheeks. Across the room, Frosta, who was engaged in some manner of puzzle, made a sound of disgust. Entrapta, idly occupied at the writing table with a complex mechanism blinked at the display of affection and shrugged. Mermista and Catra tried to hide their own smiles and merely exchanged a shrug.

Glimmer huffed and deposited her embroidery, “Well, one can judge a man by the company he keeps. And whilst it would appear Mr Archer has much to recommend him, his decision to associate with such an abominable and crude gentleman such as Mr De Gray throws my initial appraisal of him into uncertainty.”

“Mr De Gray! Well, I have it on good authority that the gentleman is still ensconced in Elberon and will not be gracing us with their presence. Indeed! I will ensure that Mr Archer is aware that such a gentleman is not welcome at our home after such an assault on the character of our dear Catra,” Micah nodded as he pronounced his decision. Angella glanced across at her daughter.

“Was he truly so beastly, my dear?”   
  


Catra looked up from her book and adjusted herself on the settee, “He was abrupt and apparently without bearing, but hardly  _ beastly _ . Honestly, I could not appraise his countenance or intent, as he seemed eager to be elsewhere. I can only surmise his opinion of us  _ country _ folk from his attitude. However, I have no desire to investigate further. If, however, such hostility is a barrier to my sister’s advancement, then I will  _ deign _ to socialise with the man,” she shrugged then shot an encouraging smile at Glimmer.

Glimmer for her part, relaxed and nodded, “He was, indeed, an abrupt fellow. Did not even remove his scarf! He seemed to enjoy needling Catra.”

Angella nodded slowly, “Well then, we shall not bar him from our halls. The name, however… De Gray. It is a familiar one, I am sure it will come to me. I may need to check my correspondances.”

“I am sure he is of little consequence! After all, our focus is on establishing the intent of Mr Archer and hoping he finds favour with us and our daughters with him,” Micah waved a hand dismissively. Angella hummed noncommittally, her face a mask of thoughtful contemplation.

Catra leaned over to Glimmer’s chair and smiled conspiratorially, “So, what whiles do you have planned to outstep dear Entrapta? She will likely have her own contraptions to  _ literally _ ensnare the gentleman.”

Glimmer huffed and picked at the embroidery in her lap, “You and I both know that Entrapta’s interest in the romances are academic, despite her eagerness. I will trust to fate and see whether it steers me well.”   
  


“Then you are a fool and a lazy one!” chided Catra, but her words were teasing, “Capitalise, sister dear! This is not fishing, but a  _ hunt _ .”   
  


“Oh and when were you so well versed in the arts of romance? Or have you finally fallen for Mermista’s tales of budding passion?” Glimmer waggled her eyebrows and smiled broadly. Catra, for her part, rolled her eyes and gently shoved Glimmer.

“No, I merely take tea with Netossa and Spinnerella. They are a most informative pair!”

“Well, should my interest ever fall that way, then I will be sure to consult them. However, the whims of a man are most definitely different to that of a woman, I am sure.”

Catra returned to her book, “I would not, nor do I wish to, know any more on the topic. I merely reinforce that this is a grand opportunity to pursue that which you espouse a longing for most greatly - that of love.”

The gathering was interrupted by a servant who announced the arrival of one  _ Mr Archer. _ The Moons stood as the man was ushered in, whereupon Micah approached and bowed, “Mr Archer, a pleasure and welcome to our humble home. I trust your business in Elberon was concluded satisfactorily?” 

Mr Archer beamed and bowed in return, then stepped forwards to shake Micah by the hand, “Indeed yes. Most agreeably. All rather boring, of course and likely of no interest to your lovely family.”

“Of course! Mr Archer, may I present my wife, Angella Moon,” the tall matriarch curtseyed and inclined her head, “And my daughters, Glimmer, Mermista, Catra, Entrapta and Frosta. I understand you have already had the fortune to meet Glimmer and Catra?”

“A pleasure, ladies. And yes, I was most fortunate. They were kind enough to assist a lost man who was quite turned about.”   
  


Glimmer licked her lips and looked about to respond, but her eyes were wide and she seemed frozen. Catra glanced to her, then inclined her head towards Mr Archer, “You are most kind sir. But we were hardly of any assistance, merely a distraction for you and your companion. I believe he was the true saviour.”

Mr Archer appraised Catra and smiled again, his expression warm and genuine, “Mayhap, but it was certainly an enjoyable and enlightening exchange.”

Catra blinked in surprise, “Indeed so, sir?”

“Indeed! I was able to meet a pair of captivating and hospitable women who were forthright in their demeanour and welcoming. It is a refreshing change from the mores of city life, I must say! Even if the greenery is a bit overwhelming! And Mr De Gray, well, yes. My friend is not normally so…”

“Charming?” Catra smiled again and Micah turned with an arched eyebrow, as if not moments before  _ he _ had not been besmirching the character of the same gentleman.

But Mr Archer simply laughed, “Indeed not! Normally he is of a surlier disposition and quite aloof. Truly, I believe you charmed  _ him _ .”

Catra blinked and frowned, “Then I am afraid he will be sorely disappointed, to be blunt sir. He did not remove his scarf! It is bold of me, but I felt him uncouth.”

“Ah but he had the right of that. Shortly after departing, I enquired as to why he had done so but ended swallowing a fly in our haste!”

The image drew a titter from Frosta and a grin from Catra. She nodded, “A wise  _ travel _ decision, maybe, but he was not travelling at the time. My apologies, I am speaking ill of a man not here to defend himself. And of course, we are not here to discuss your friend, we are here to welcome  _ you _ to our part of Etheria.”

Mr Archer’s smile was smaller but had an  _ inkling _ of something else. Amusement perhaps? He had a certain knowing countenance to him. He nodded and looked to Glimmer, “Ms Moon, a pleasure to see you again. Once again, may I reiterate my thanks for your welcome. And indeed, a pleasure to meet you all.”

Angella nodded, then clapped her hands and a servant entered, “Emily, is the tea room ready? I feel Mr Archer bust be in want of refreshment?”

“You are too kind madame! Please, lead on!”

The company filed through, during which time Entrapta took the opportunity to present her small, whirling mechanism. With refreshments to hand, Entrapta then went about demonstrating the way her device hovered and buzzed, like a floating corkscrew. Mr Archer looked enchanted and complimented the enthusiastic girl on her talents.

“I myself have a penchant for mechanics. If you are interested, I would be happy to give you a tour of my workshop?”   
  
“A workshop! AMAZING!” Entrapta’s ability to control the volume of her exhortations was not being exercised and Mr Archer leaned back. Across the room, Glimmer fumed and clenched her fists against her dress. Catra leaned over and nudged her.

“I told you. Now, are you willing to entertain my opinions?”

“What is the use? He has a  _ penchant _ for such things, does he not?”

“And he made eyes at you in the woods. So, either he is a gadabout who plays with the affections of women  _ or _ mayhap he has merely found a shared interest. I know I lean towards the cynical, Glimmer, but let us try to ascertain his  _ intent _ . Even if it is just to protect our sister.”

Glimmer nodded, “True. If Mr De Gray is any measure, then there is potential that Mr Archer is merely putting on an air of affability.”

“Quite so. So, shall we?”

“We shall.”

The women rose and approached the enthusiastic pair, but were interrupted by Micah’s own interest, “Mr Archer, I took note of your devices near your stables, quite the array for a hobbyist!”

Mr Archer looked at his host and nodded, “Indeed. My fathers wished for me to pursue a study of academia. But my strengths do not lie with dusty tomes and buried relics, rather they are with the science of movement and forces.”

Entrapta beamed, “Truly, what other forces matter? What is more important than the pursuit of knowledge above all things?”

Mr Archer glanced over at Glimmer then appeared to blush, “Some things, I find. One must keep balance, which is the true lesson of engineering I find. Too much focus in one area can lead to misfortune. Forget to counter it and one will fall foul of fickle physics!”

Micah clapped his hands, “A poet too, sir! I must confess, I am more on the side of academia and research. But still, a fascinating topic.”   
  


“Oh indeed. And, if it is of genuine interest, I would be more than happy to host a tour of my workshop… if such a thing might be of interest? I know it might seem frightfully boring to ladies of learning such as yourselves, such base activities, but… still.”

Glimmer had paused in her advance, likewise Catra. But the pair had halted for different reasons. Glimmer spoke at the same time as Catra.

“I would love to visit!”

“Did you say  _ fathers _ ?”

Mr Archer glanced between them then grinned, “Well, let me answer. I will first clear my estate to ensure it is suitable for visitations, then I would be most honoured to entertain a visit, at your convenience,” he made eye contact with Glimmer, then nodded to Entrapta, who seemed now once more preoccupied with her whirling device. Then he looked at Catra, “And yes, my fathers.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it and frowned, “My apologies, sir. I did not mean to offend.”

“I know, it is a rare thing. In some circles it offends  _ others _ , but not so in Elberon. Marriage equality has been achieved in the civilised cities, but I know some more  _ traditional _ regions hold a bias. I was most pleased to make the acquaintance or the Telae’s.”

A smile broke out across Catra’s face, “Ahhh so you have met with Netossa and Spinnerella?”

“Indeed so - I chanced upon them before your father called upon me. A most welcoming pair and full of advice!” Mr Archer chuckled, “Good advice too, which was refreshing. Mainly on ground maintenance, but I will leave that in more capable hands!”

Micah nodded slowly, “It is a relief to be in such an enlightened time. Our local parish does its best to be welcoming. Any and all of good intent are a welcome sight.”   
  


“Most excellent. For they are currently in attendance at Thaymor Manor, rather insistently so,” Mr Archer picked up his cup and supped, “You will excuse me for saying so, Mr Moon, but one does occasionally wish to be free of the shadow of one's parents, no matter how doting.”

Angella laughed from next to her husband, then stood to open the double doors that led onto the lawn, “Mr Archer, we quite understand. My girls are, I am sure, most impatient to find their futures. Wherever that may take them.”

“Indeed. The world is a challenge, though a rewarding one. For those of us not shackled by duty at least,” a brief cloud passed over Mr Archer’s features, his dark skin seemingly grey for the barest moment, but he brightened, “I am lucky, however - of comfortable means and not the first of my family.”

Angella turned from where she stood at the doors, “Oh? You have siblings?”

“ _ Twelve _ , Mrs Moon, though I am not the youngest. So, I can empathise with the fine women of this household!”

That drew chuckles from around the room and Glimmer seemed to relax. She and Catra still stood as they listened, though Glimmer seemed more fixated with staring at Mr Archer. Catra decided to nudge the conversation along, “So you are not in want of company having spent so much of it surrounded, then sir?”

Mr Archer laughed, “In many cases yes, but more I am after companionship of my own  _ choosing _ . My fathers wish to assess the local area, I am sure, to ascertain the reality of opportunity here. But I am content to make acquaintance and see wherefore it might lead.” 

Catra arched an eyebrow, “Bold, sir!”

The man spread his hands and smiled, “I am in no position to enforce anything. I am a guest, a newcomer and I will go where fate leads and hope my countenance and deamour are pleasing. I am not heir to a vast fortune, not a princeling. I am a man of means but, I feel I must import, not a man  _ seeking _ someone of means. I am, perhaps, a romantic. For I believe in acquiring the affection of someone, not merely a contract.”

Silence fell on the room as Micah and Angella exchanged a glance. Glimmer swallowed and looked at Catra who smiled back at her. Angella spoke up first, “A noble confession to make, Mr Archer. Are you in the habit of grand declarations at all introductory meetings?”

Mr Archer smiled back at her, seemingly not intimidated by the curiosity in her face, “I find that honesty in my dealings is the best approach. Too often we dally and miss an opportunity. I have seen what comes of dishonesty and ill intent and prefer to be frank, Mrs Moon. I must present what I am, what I offer, to better set aside any who would assume more of me.”

Catra nodded slowly, “You have a low opinion of others? To assume ill intent?”

“Ms Moon, hardly, I merely seek an equitable understanding. I have seen others who have set out false interest and led others astray. Or attempted to do so. As such, I prefer to state who I am and hope that it is enough. And, I must say, I feel I am in good company, for I feel free to do so!”

That drew a smile from Angella and Micah, the latter of whom slapped Mr Archer’s shoulder companionably, “You flatter us, sir, with such trust. We hope we can ensure you of our own noble intent.”

Mr Archer raised his cup, “Well, the tea is most  _ certainly _ agreeable. On a note, are you attending the ball this coming week?”

“We are!” that was from Frosta, “Dancing is most enjoyable!”

Mermista decided to contribute her own thoughts, “It’s an agreeable enough activity. To pass the time.”

Mr Archer smiled, “Well, that will be most enjoyable then. I will know some people there at least! I will be in attendance, with a small company. It has been a while since I danced, so the opportunity is most welcome.”   
  


“You don’t have parties in Elberon?” that came from Entrapta, who frowned at Mr Archer with a focused intensity. He waved a hand.

“I have been distracted, I must admit, settling some affairs in order and helping Mr De… well, that is a topic for another time. I have only attended a few in the past year, so am somewhat out of the art.”

Micah chuckled, “Well, I am sure there will be ample opportunity to reintroduce yourself.”

“Indeed! And, may I be so bold as to request… two dances, from Ms Glimmer, should she be agreeable, upon the evening?” Mr Archer turned in his chair and smiled hopefully. Glimmer blushed and nodded mutely, “Most excellent. Thank you.”

The conversation continue amiably, with the company then taking a turn around the gardens, with Frosta pointing out various birds to Mr Archer and Mermista explaining her particular efforts around the manicured water-features. Glimmer and Catra trailed, whilst Micah and Angella took their own turn walking the lawns. Catra couldn’t help but notice how Mr Archer would pause to glance towards Glimmer with the faintest of smiles. She leaned closer to her sister, “I don’t quite know what you did, but apparently it worked.”

“Hush, you will jinx it.”

“So long as Entrapta doesn’t produce some device from her bodice you should be fine.”   
  


“His invitation was for  _ all  _ of us, so his intent is still unsure,” whispered Glimmer, fiercely. Catra snorted.

“He asked, before the ball has even convened, for  _ two _ dances. I think we can ascertain his intent!”

“He could be being polite!”

“Or maybe he wishes to make an honest woman of you, My Sparkly Sister, difficult as that might be.”

“You are the worst.”   
  


“And yet you still love me.”

“Heavens knows why.”

Catra hummed happily and jostled Glimmer’s shoulder with a smile. After another hour, during which the conversation moved easily and even involved Glimmer  _ and _ Mr Archer exchanging a few words together as they took their own walk through the gardens, their guest had to depart. He mounted his horse at the front of Brightmoon House and tilted his hat to the gathered family.

“Many thanks for your most gracious hospitality. I was, honestly, merely expecting a cordial exchange of words with Mr Moon, but I am most pleased to have been hosted so warmly. It was truly wonderful. And I do hope you will visit Thaymor, even if it is just to see my wasted efforts at contraption construction,” his gaze settled on Glimmer.

Glimmer managed to speak then, “I would be delighted.”

Entrapta looked up from yet another device she had cradled in her hands and grinned, “As would I!”

Mr Archer kept his gaze upon Glimmer as he spoke, “Wonderful.”

And with that he set off, spurring his horse to a gentle trot down the gravel path. Glimmer let out a shuddering breath and smiled stupidly. Micah laid a hand on her shoulder, “I say, I think there might be a look of  _ tolerance _ there from you, dear.”

Entrapta turned about and smiled too, “What a nice man! Do you think he’ll let me look at his devices? I’d really like to look at them!”

Angella tapped her chin as she looked between her two daughters, “And what of your thoughts on Mr Archer, Entrapta?”

“He seems very clever.”

“And?”

“He talks a lot about things. But I really just want to see those devices! He has a  _ workshop _ !”

Glimmer blinked and Catra watched her frown at her sister. Angella spoke before Glimmer could, though, “And you have romantic intent, dear/”

Entrapta frowned, “Do I?”

“Well, you seemed quite taken with him.”

“He’s an agreeable man. But he has a  _ workshop _ .”

Angella smiled, then looked at Glimmer, “And you dear?”   
  


“He… he’s… very  _ kind _ .”

Angella hummed and nodded, “Well, I suggest we retire and consider. Entrapta dear, can you reassure your sister as to your designs?”

“Which ones?” Entrapta looked genuinely confused for a moment, clearly a thought having bypassed her somewhere. Angella folded her hands in front of her.

“On  _ Mr Archer _ .”

“OHHH! Well, as I said, he has a workshop. I’m interested in  _ that _ . But… he likes Glimmer,” she said it very matter of factly. Everyone stared at her, “Why is everyone staring at me?”

Catra stepped forwards and reached out a hand gently. Entrapta nodded and Catra laid her palm on her sister’s shoulder, “It did look like you were talking an awful lot with him. Showing an interest.”

“Mermista talked to him,” Entrapta steepled her fingers, “Water features and the most optimal layouts for water flow… he seemed interested. Is… is Mermista also….?”

Mermista brushed a lock of dark, curled hair out of her face, “Um,  _ no _ , I was being polite.”

“Oh. Well. I think I was? I was being polite too? But I know he likes Glimmer. And Glimmer likes him. I got that right?”

Catra smiled and let go of Entrapta’s shoulder, “But do  _ you _ like him?”

“Yes? I mean, he has a workshop. But do you mean romantically? I’m not sure what that means. I know father talks about us wanting something romantically but…” she gave a helpless shrug, which made Glimmer sigh and step forward.

“Come here silly. Mother, you’ve gotten her all a tizzy now.”   
  


Angella frowned, an apology clear in her sad expression, “Oh dear. I merely wished to avoid a row. My apologies Entrapta, I do forget that for your enthusiasm, some things are still opaque to you, you beautiful girl.”   
  


Entrapta’s purple pigtails bobbed as she smiled, “It’s all about learning, mother. I feel I have ascertained a fair few things! For the scientific arts! Namely, I  _ enjoy _ Mr Archer’s company but I am  _ not _ attracted to Mr Archer,” she turned to Glimmer, “When you get married, can I use the workshop?”

Catra couldn’t help but laugh. Glimmer blushed, then grinned, which caused Frosta to dance around the group, singing  _ “Glimmer is getting mar-ried, Glimmer is getting mar-ried”.  _ Mermista even cracked a faint smile.

Behind them, their parents shared a relieved glance, then headed indoors, their children jostling and excitedly questioning a flustered Glimmer on what sort of wedding she would prefer. Catra, for her part, only had a passing curiosity for a certain blue eyed gentleman and their circumstances that had Mr Archer smiling in such an enigmatic fashion. Such thoughts she filed away, eager to focus instead on the fact her sister now appeared crimson and joined her siblings in chasing the blushing girl into the gardens, whooping as they ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A definite differentiation from the Book. As I said - it's a GUIDE not a transfer ;)
> 
> I wanted to setup a more innocent and fun intention for Bow and Glimmer, plus explore the burgeoning Bromance between Micah and Bow. Not huge here, but at the ball we shall see him move between the two!
> 
> Also, a bit of Entrapta being oblivious and NOT so oblivious :)
> 
> Don't worry, we'll get some Adora / Catra back and forth at the ball in a chapter or so.


	4. A shadow of a man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam muddles through life in preparation for a return to Thaymor.
> 
> What is he avoiding? What ails his soul?
> 
> And why does the thought of a ball bring such curmudgeonly thoughts?

The commitments of a gentleman about town demanded a certain level of visibility and presentation; namely, the need to present oneself at societal functions. These could range from idle dinner parties, to theatre gatherings or to shooting parties, though the latter activity was restricted to the country estates of the Gentry.

It was due to such commitments that Adam de Gray found himself forced to attend a rather dour function at the club that he frequented. Aged gentlemen espousing upon the importance of _family_ and _loyalty_. Little gentry, men of maybe a hundred acres that felt that constituted the right to lord over others. And it was all Adam could do to hold a relatively civil tongue. To ensure the continued survival of the other attendees, Adam withdrew to the grey marble mantle, within which burned a low fire. He nursed his brandy and studied the room.

Poppinjays and portly men, the lot of them, scraping and bowing. The proper decorum, yes, but truth be told, it was the doldrums.

Unbidden, a memory of mismatched eyes amidst the bluebells of a woodland assailed Adam’s memory. It drew an uncomfortable frown.

“Mr de Gray, a surprise to see you here.”

Adam’s grip on the brandy glass tightened imperceptibly. He turned and gave a curt head tilt to the approaching figure. Pale, sallow features coupled with bloodshot eyes and a ramrod posture.

“Captain Hordak. I see you are still ambulatory.”

A ghost of a sneer pulled at thin lips, “And I see you continue with your pointless charade.”

“Hardly pointless. I trust you are still enjoying your inheritance. The brocade appears _new_.”

The Captain smoothed down the black of his military tunic and sniffed, “The purchased commission was certainly fortuitous.”

“Though I doubt it will aid you in your particular goals,” Adam frowned, “To what do I owe your company, Hordak?”

The Captain peered out at the crowd and huffed, “Truly are we so far gone, _Adam_? That we cannot exchange niceties?”

“Considering our prior parting, I feel this is an appropriate level of exchange. Were it not for your current attire, I fear things would be tremulous _indeed_.”

The Captain pursed his lips and nodded, “I see. Well, I shall not darken your precious mantle. If I see you at the club, perchance you will grace me with a duel. Perhaps that will allow you succour for your _theatrics_.”

Adam’s jaw tightened and he inclined his head and watched Hordak stalk away through the crowd of velvet coats and tight-buttoned shirts. Suddenly the brandy tasted bitter and unpalatable. Adam tossed the dregs into the flames and set for the balcony. The air of Elberon was hardly cool, but it was fresher than a stuffy entertainment room - the high walls and wide windows did little to quell the feeling of oppression within.

Adam drew a gulp of air and gripped the balustrade, eyes focused on the cramped buildings and flickering lamplight of the city. The sounds of townsfolk at labour echoed through the air and, oddly relaxed Adam’s grip on the stone. He heaved a sigh. Perhaps a trip back to the estate was due.

But he had promised to travel back to visit Beauregard. And Adam was particular about his appointments. One had to be, given the situation. A misstep could be catastrophic.

The evening’s entertainment had served its purpose - Adam had been seen, had exchanged words and now could safely retire to his lodgings. Thus decided, Mr de Gray exchanged polite goodbyes with the host, some idle city loafer, and departed for the set of rooms he retained for such stays in the city.

The carriage ride was an uneventful occurrence, as was the short exchanges he made to the landlady of the premises, with instructions to not be disturbed. It was important that Adam was left alone - important business, writing, things of that sort demanded privacy.

In truth, Adam ceased to exist once he stepped beyond the threshold of his private rooms; the mask and _ties_ that _bound_ cast aside. Another name returned to reality beyond. His true name. A name he had to conceal for propriety, for duty, for _honour_.

\------------

The following morning brought overcast skies and the gentle set of drizzle. Mr de Gray rode to the town house of the Archer family and rapped upon the hardwood door. The face that answered was not the butler, but rather the bespectacled and dreadlocked framed face of Mr Lance Archer.

“Addddd….AM! Adam! So wonderful for you to be here. You will be joining us for breakfast, of course?”

Adam rolled his eyes but offered the faintest of smiles, “I trust George is cooking?”

“Mr Archer is indeed in the kitchen. We have given the housekeeper the day off, as we felt remiss retaining her for such minor distractions.”

“And the rest of your kin?”

“The other boys and Beatrice have already departed for Thaymor, with Beauregard. We felt you might appreciate more sedate company.”

Adam offered a wider smile in gratitude, “Most welcome indeed. Much as the ride to Thaymor is invigorating, it can be murder on the thighs. A chance to regard the countryside and contemplate with good conversation would be appreciated.”

Lance nodded and tried to hide a smirk, “And you will entertain us with your _scholarly_ ways.”

Mr de Gray snorted and swatted a glove against Lance’s forearm, “Hush, sir. I was in my cups and trying to make a good impression on behalf of Beauregard.”

“You nearly broke a vase.”

“Truly it was luck I failed to do so then!”

“You did not attend the club? Not gotten a chance in with the blade?” Lance paused as they moved through the tiled hallway, past the vast library and into the kitchen itself. Adam shook his head.

“No, unfortunately an… _acquaintance_ was present and I did not fancy being hauled before a magistrate under a charge of manslaughter. Best to avoid the fencing club for now.”

“Probably wise, my dear,” Lance paused and glanced around, then smiled apologetically, “My dear _Adam_. GEORGE! Adam is here. Mr de Gray! Are the eggs prepared?”

The kitchen itself was, for want of a better word, _regimented_. George, despite being master (or one of the masters) of the house, tended to treat the kitchen as more his domain. The cook ruled in his stead, but ultimately, George was at home there. Another slight oddity to add to a pile of oddities that comprised the Archer family.

Ingredients were lined up, pots and skillets hung in size order and shelves were neatly stacked with pewter and china. Near the hearth and stove stood George himself, the rolled up white sleeves of his dress shirt providing a pleasant contrast to his caramel skin. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded to Adam.

“Mr de Gray. Your timing, as ever, is impeccable. Please, draw a chair. I trust you will not object to the impropriety of taking sustenance in a meagre kitchen?”

Adam removed his top hat and placed it next to his riding crop on the table, “Not at all, Mr Archer. A sacrifice necessary to enjoy the culinary adventures of your experimentation.”

George scoffed and turned fully to spoon a hearty spread of bacon, sausage and egg onto plates. Hardly the finest of dining, but enough to set one up for a long journey in the back of a carriage. George placed the pan into the sink and pumped the water handle, then sat down next to Lance. The pair clasped hands for a moment then smiled at Adam.

Mr de Gray eyed their hands and then shrugged. Lance chuckled, “Still so stiff.”

“The bearing of a lifetime is not something one shifts easily, Mr Archer,” Adam set to his meal with gusto, but managed a modicum of restraint. After all, he wore a white collared shirt and cravat. It would not do to meet people on the journey and look _greasy_.

George and Lance made idle conversation, tentatively asking about Mr de Gray’s dealings. In return, Mr de Gray enquired after the wider family and ascertained Beauregard’s siblings had experienced success across their ventures, bar a slight issue with Beatrice deciding she did not wish to attend finishing school.

“Mayhap you should… advise her as to her options?” hazarded Mr de Gray. That merely elicited a chuckle from George.

“And how successful can any man be at restraining the fancy of a woman? Surely you know this better than most _Adam_ …”

Mr de Gray attempted a glare, but gave up due to the lack of conviction behind it, “Regardless, Beatrice should understand the limitations…”

“Mr de Gray, what limitations? The city is progressive. The colleges accept women, albeit with some negotiation; businesses are more accepting of the station and role of women within their walls. We are moving forward....” he left the implication hanging. A fruit. A temptation of thoughts.

The cutlery clattered onto Adam’s plate and he managed a thin smile, “Such wondrous news for Elberon. For those unencumbered by conditions and commitments. I will not lecture you on parenthood, for you hold far more in the way of doctrinal knowledge on that front. But I can countenance that obligation is a fickle mistress and will be a burden should this not be taken in hand. But! But… I will not rage. It is not my place. George, I thank you for the breakfast… are we to depart shortly?”

The pair watched as Adam stood. Lance laid a hand over George’s and smiled, “Adam, we do understand your conviction. Forgive us for speaking out of turn.”

“No, sir. Forgive me for commenting on what is, entirely, a personal matter for your family. I am sure Ms Archer will be most satisfied with any vocation of her choosing. Perhaps I am merely… envious of the opportunity. Gentry, despite our rank, rarely have the privilege of choice. May I make use of your library until you are ready to depart?”

The pair nodded and Adam clicked his heels together and bowed lightly. He recovered his crop and hat, then moved to the library where he sank into an easy chair and stared at the empty fireplace, lost in thought.

\---------------------

Carriage rides were, after the first hour, interminably boring. Being jostled and bounced; the inability to truly write or read, with the only recourse being idle chatter or a discomfited sleep, it was a disatisfying experience. Albeit easier on the thighs.

Adam watched as the countryside rolled by and contributed to the back and forth between the couple in the carriage. George and Lance clasped each other’s hands tightly and Lance came alive as he pointed out various trees and features. George, for all his stiff bearing and short-cropped hair (A habit of his military days) softened and spent most of the time merely regarding the animated countenance of his husband. Adam watched their exchange and felt a faint aching envy. An experience both familiar and alien.

Such dalliances and futures were naught but a beautiful wish that was not within his future.

After a couple of hours of fitful sleep, the carriage rolled down the long gravel drive to Thaymor Manor, where it was promptly surrounded by a throng of chattering figures. Adam grumbled as he roused himself and fought the smile as Lance and George were pulled bodily from the carriage by eager hands and chattering faces. 

The Archer siblings were, to put it politely, an event in and of themselves. A throng. A horde. An army. Implacable, relentless and far too enthusiastic to be good for anyone.

They were also the kindest people Adam had had the pleasure to be acquainted with over the years. He met the eye of Benjamin, an accountant by trade. The eldest Archer sibling nodded and grinned widely at Adam, “Mr de Gray! You grace us with your presence!”

“And you are clearly angling for my accounts, Benjamin.”

“Ach! A man must drum up business by the best means. And best to be honest and up front. You still retain the services of the Star Associates?”

“They have not done me poorly these past years.”

“A fair assessment. They say measure a man by his competition, in which case I must be a mighty sort indeed!”

Adam smiled and shook the man’s hand, “A true statement. Should I have further ventures, I will look to include you. Your advice on the southern investments was invaluable, I must say.”

“Well, then, I look forward to your patronage, Mr de Gray!”

Adam moved through the group, greeting the vast family, as they alternated between mobbing their fathers, whom they had actually seen only a few days prior, and exalting at Adam’s presence.

Their family was a close one and one where Adam had always felt welcome. Accepted. _Seen_. Beyond the trappings and the necessity of his current station. They knew, of course, the reality of his duty and the background. But they bore the burden with him.

Some days it made it easier. It was certainly easier to be in the south. A strange dichotomy - to miss the beauty of home and the freedom of roaming the halls, but to also fear the judgement and expectations of those around it; to seek solace among family not his own, whilst wearing the mask they knew to be fake.

He pushed such thoughts from his head and made for the house, the servants unloading the carriage, one leading Swift Wind to the stables. The horse had ambled alongside the carriage quite happily, not requiring a guide-rope. He was like that - loyal to a fault, if a tad boisterous.

Adam hoped that another stable door would not become a casualty of the horses’ enthusiasm.

He took a moment to regard Thaymor. Red brick with grey cornerstones; arch, white rimmed windows. An impressive split stair leading to the front of the mansion. Black tiles on the slanted roof. It sported two wings and he knew it to be in the shape of a squared off horse-shoe, with a large courtyard behind the house and between the wings. Around, the grounds and manicured gardens stretched like a cultivated dream.

Compared with the cramp of the city, it was a pleasure.

But still not _quite_ home.

It would do for now.

A bark of a laugh drew Adam’s attention and he grinned as Beaurgard strode out of the front doors, arms spread, “WELCOME! Come, come! We have _lemonade_ ! I tell you, the locals hereabouts are _geniuses_ with fruits! Pressed apples! CHERRY JUICE! Come on, don’t dally! I imagine you all could do with soft cushions and refreshments!”

Adam chuckled and strode up the stairs to meet his friend, who embraced him in a bear hug. Adam winced at the pressure on his chest for a moment, but slapped Beauregard on his back, “Good to see you. Despite it being barely a few days. I trust you have behaved?”

“On the contrary, I ignored your advice and called upon several of my neighbours in a most honest fashion.”

Mr de Gray tutted, “Well, I hope your foolhardy leap is worthwhile.”

“Oh you certainly will not approve, I think,” Beauregard grinned and patted Adam on the shoulder, “Come, let us _refresh_ your palette. We do have a ball to plan for!”

Behind him, the Archer family trooped along, sharing excited stories of their explorations and the charm of the rustic surrounds. Adam groaned as he was led towards the promise of lemonade and (The worst of all worlds) the possibility of _dancing_ several days hence. 

“A ball, Beauregard? Am I not allowed to just go and shoot and fish and maybe… enjoy the lack of tall buildings hereabouts?”

Beauregard hummed, “Well, it is important to me, so I would be indebted if you would attend. Mayhap you can teach the locals some of your decorum?” he smiled and winked, “Though I feel you would have to hand out the requisite poles for them to sit upon to achieve your demeanour.”

Adam huffed and shouldered Beauregard, “Uncalled for sir. I am… capable of charming.”

“Ms Moon thought so… in a more roundabout manner, I believe.”

“Ah, your intended paramour? She has her hooks in you.”

Beauregard ignored the implication and smiled archly as he paused to regard his friend, “Oh no. Ms _Catra_ Moon.”

Mr de Gray’s foot caught the edge of a flagstone and he stumbled slightly, but corrected the misstep momentarily, “Pardon, sir, I appear to have developed an affliction in my ear. What was that?”

“Oh, your attempts at apathy appear to have caught her rancor. A fine start. But I dare say you have her attention. If I am any judge of these things, of course.”

Adam harrumphed, “Well, we all know how _that_ would turn out… if I was even the least bit inclined, which I may assure you sir, I am not.”

“Of course, of course,” Beauregard smiled placatingly and gestured to a set of tables and chairs arrayed on the veranda beside the western lawn, which rapidly filled with his chattering family. He gazed out across the gardens and added, as if musing upon the weather, “She will, of course, be at the ball as well. I am sure you more than capable of taking the measure of things and putting any… nagging thoughts to bed.”

Adam sat down carefully and glowered at his friend, “You, sir… are a frightful sort.”

“Indeed I am. Indeed I am,” he turned and clasped his hands behind his back, flicking the tails of his light brown coat, “And for that, you will ever be grateful, I am sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a traversal chapter for all of you to see some hints at Adora. Much like Darcy, we won't find out MUCH about Adora's truth just yet.
> 
> Oh and we're going to meet the Mr Collins insert next chapter.
> 
> Along with our Charlotte Lucas insert....
> 
> I do hope you like ;)


	5. A dance to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra attends a function most enjoyable and makes an acquaintance.

Preparations for social events were a rather involved activity, requiring the attendance of two maidservants at least. The addition of excitable siblings made the endeavour an undertaking of epic proportions.

Catra sighed as Glimmer helped her into her gown, the shorter girl fussing as she buttoned the back. The brunette frowned at her reflection in the mirror atop the dressing table, “Must we? These affairs are frightfully dull.”

Glimmer, her hair more sparkly than usual to her latest acquisition from the Brightmoon General Post Store, glanced at Catra’s reflection and rolled her eyes, “We must. For I require someone to converse with, should the dance with Mr Archer go awry.”

“Awry she says!” Catra rolled her eyes in turn, then peered over her shoulder, “The man would tolerate you stamping his toes, Glim. You best have him fully bewitched by eve’s end, else Perfuma may have her way!”

Glimmer grumbled, then frowned, “Perfuma… wouldn’t, would she?”

Catra smirked and shrugged, “Best you don’t give her the chance, my dearest. Stick to him like glue. Though I doubt that will be a problem for you.”

The smaller of the sisters managed a derisive snort before shoving Catra gently. This, in turn, elicited a rasping cackle. Glimmer produced a brush from the dresser and mock glowered at her sister. Catra, for her part, widened her eyes in shock, “You wouldn’t.”

Glimmer’s grin was like the devil possessed, “We need to make you look presentable, after all.”

Scant minutes later, a sullen looking Catra (All a facade, as truly she was eager to see her sister safely reassured as to Mr Archer’s clear affections) descended the stairs to join the family, Glimmer’s arm hooked around Catra’s own. Mr Moon paced, impatiently, his waistcoat of light pink and pastel coattails a match for his wife’s own flowing, high bodice gown.

Catra felt the odd one out; her deep red dress and black gloves (which stretch to above her elbow) were certainly a brighter statement, compared to the muted blue of Frosta’s dress; or the purpble and grey of Entrapta’s. Mermista in her teal gown was almost a mirror to Angella’s, save the shading. And Glimmer, of course, was a rainbow that seemed to not be a clash of fancies. Pink and purple, with a white under-skirt that complimented the whole ensemble.

“Well, we are still in time. Excellent. Excellent,” Mr Moon clapped his hands, then fetched his top hat and cane from the table nearby. He gestured to the front door, “Well, my girls, let us not dilly dally! Mr Archer may have his mind set upon Glimmer, but my nerves will not be satisfied until all of you are suitably partnered,” he quirked a grin at Catra, “Whomsoever that might be, of course.”

Catra couldn’t help the faint smile that graced her face, her canines peeking over her lip, “I am afraid no man shall bore me into such a predicament, father dear. I leave that luxury to Glimmer.”

“A father can hope. Perhaps a lady might woo you? We are in an enlightened age and such an event would still do us proud.”

Angella reached across and grasped Mr Moon’s hand, her eyes crinkled with mirth and tender affection, “A man with the right words. Such to melt an icy heart.”

“As if yours was ever so imperilled, my love.”

“Are we not going to a ball? This is all rather  _ ikky _ ,” grumbled Frosta, “I want to  _ dance _ !”

Glimmer stepped over the last stair and smiled at her youngest sister, “But you are not even ten, surely?”

“Eleven! I am eleven! More than old enough to be dancing!”

“Well, should any young officer take a fancy to you, I will be having  _ words _ ,” harrumphed Glimmer. Catra stepped up alongside and arched an eyebrow.

“And I too. We have our eyes on you, little one.”

“I’m not  _ little _ .”

Entrapta, who was perched on one of the hall chairs, glanced up, “Observable evidence would disagree on that point.”

Frosta stomped her foot and growled, “I  _ hate  _ you all.”

This did not elicit a round of apologies or sympathy. Merely a group nod and sighs of amused acceptance. Micah stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder, “My dear, I will ensure you have a dance this evening. It would be my honour to ensure no vagabonds attempt to dishonour you.”

That just drew out another grumble from the diminutive girl, but the family was at least able to board their modest carriage and rattle down the lanes to the Town hall at Thaymor Village - not too much larger than Brightmoon, it still had more in the way of amenities: two taverns  _ and _ a coaching in, as well as several boutiques. That term might be stretching the definition, but for villagers, they were certainly of a refined taste - carrying silks and more class-appropriate dinnerware.

The hall was relatively modest - a main hall for town meetings, which had been set up to entertain the gentry. Outside, carriages lined up down the main street, their drivers gathered about the horse trough with warmed wine to keep the evening chill at bay.

Micah helped the family from the carriage and escorted them through the double doors into the gathered throng. It was quite the collection of local society, bolstered in no small part by the attending Archer contingent. By themselves, they appeared to have occupied a whole quarter of the room, having sequestered themselves near to the string quartet. Glimmer started, the intimidation clear upon her face. Catra stepped alongside her and squeezed her hand, “Worry not,” she whispered, “If they are akin to Mr Archer, you might find yourself with  _ several _ options.”

She giggled as Glimmer swatted at her arm, then frowned as a tall figure detached themselves from their position near the door, close enough to potentially eavesdrop. Catra noticed the dark hue of their coat, lined with a red velvet; grey trousers, shaggily cropped blonde hair and a very well defined profile of the face. She wasn’t able to gain a good measure of the gentleman (Nor did she feel inclined to do so) but their sudden departure across the room irked her, as if they wished to be  _ away _ from the Moon contingent. She was distracted as a few of the other families approached to welcome them and found herself swept along to a small collection of chairs set to the edge of the large room.

It wasn’t  _ grand _ , perhaps by comparison to some of the major salons or halls of Elberon, but the layout was sufficient for the gathering - a musical quartet playing gentle music in preparation for the more involved pieces for the dancing; the pair of mirrors that flanked the hall midway along, themselves flanked by back-to-back seats; the canapes and flurrying serving staff; it certainly gave the appearance of a cosmopolitan gathering and to-do event.

Truly, Catra did not  _ despise _ these events; she merely found them disappointing. Especially so since her awakening to her true nature and personal leanings; there wasn’t easy opportunity for her to really  _ meet _ anyone. And the dancing was, despite societal shifts in Elberon and beyond, rather staid and traditional.

She glanced about the room and spied Mr Archer. She frowned, however, as she noticed the gentleman from the door, back to her, conversing with him. For his part, Mr Archer had a rather skeptical look upon his face. The taller gentleman raised both hands in the universal expression of  _ I despair of you _ and stalked away behind another crowd. Catra wondered at the fuss, but was distracted as Glimmer pressed a glass of sherry into her hand, “Ah! I see you have seen him? Any of the other ladies circling?”

Catra shook her head, then peered about the room, “None as yet, dearest. We shall see if he holds true to his word on the promise of dancing, shall we not?”

“Ladies! Oh you look lovely!” the pair turned and their grins broadened as a familiar figure practically skipped towards them. Her long, frizzy blonde hair was tied into a neat bun behind her hair and she wore a floral pink dress with matching white gloves. Glimmer spread her arms and grappled the girl.

“Cousin Perfuma! Oh it has been an age!” Catra stood and embraced the girl once Glimmer had let her go, then stepped back to hold her arms.

“You turned out quite well this evening, though no floral bonnet?”

“Oh Catra, you know that’s for  _ outdoor _ parties… but I couldn’t resist…” Perfuma turned her head to show a single flower pinned above her right ear, “And I hear through mother that you have already  _ snagged _ the most eligible bachelor?” the blonde hummed and arched a thin eyebrow, her tanned features split in a conspiratorial grin.

Glimmer blushed and jutted her chin slightly, “He may have called upon us and he  _ may _ have asked for several dances before our attendance here.”

Catra smirked, then arched her own eyebrow at Perfuma, “Is it to be war, cousin dear? Are we to have fists at dawn or some such rot over the potential suitor?”

Perfuma smiled and shook her head, “Whilst I did have my eye on the gentleman…. I will not press my case. In spite of mother asking me to do so… no, unless he pursues me first, in which case we shall have counsel as to whether he is a cad or a bounder, no?”

Glimmer seemed to relax visibly; for though pretty Catra knew her sister always felt somewhat inferior to the willowy cousin. Their introspection was interrupted by a piercing and commanding tone, as a tall, raven haired woman approached.

“Ah Glimmer! Catra dear! I am disappointed you are not wearing the shawls I knitted for you!” the woman, who might have been Micah’s feminine doppelganger, stepped up beside Perfuma, a fan in hand, “Regardless, it is good to see you attending society functions and being… seen.”

The sisters shared the briefest of glances before Glimmer spoke, “Aunt Casta, it is a pleasure. We have not had the pleasure of you to tea for so long?”

“Well, since Mr Lucas’ passing I have felt bereft these past two years. Dear Perfuma has been most patient  _ of course _ but still. I have  _ barely _ had time to compose my letters!”

“Yes mama dear, barely any time between your repose in the drawing room, to wandering the gardens, to maybe, perhaps, talking overlong with that new tenant … what  _ was _ her name?” Perfuma smiled sweetly and tapped her lips with a finger tip.

Catra had to prevent herself from goggling in a most unladylike manner at the sudden  _ flush _ of Aunt Casta’s face. The older woman hushed her daughter and tapped her on the shoulder with the fan, but her face had the smallest smirk, “I cannot imagine what you mean, ‘Fuma dear. She is merely doing a wonderful job and I wished to compliment her efforts to restore the gardens thereabouts.”

Perfuma’s face, as she locked eyes with Catra, was so earnest as to be painful, “Truly, she has masterful grasp of gardening. Talented hands to be sure, which I am sure you are most appreciative of, mother dear, for the maintenance of your properties.”

Catra had to hold her sherry glass before her face, to hide the grin. Aunt Casta nodded sagely, “Truly. I cannot be more grateful for such an attentive tenant,” she smiled at the girls, then leaned close to Perfuma, “And she has a very silver tongue, wonderful for… conversing.”

The blonde blinked and whipped her head to regard her mother, but the raven haired woman was already waltzing away to engage another group. Glimmer chuckled, “‘Fuma dear, I do believe you have been outplayed.”

The blonde shook her head, then smiled, “I have learned much, but clearly, I should not assume an oblivious air from others. Truly, I still have to be taught. She is incorrigible.”

The girls tittered and Catra led Perfuma to sit with them, “So, do tell of your mothers newest fascination? She is now, what… a  _ friend of Mara? _ ”

Perfuma gave a genteel shrug, “I would not wish public discourse on my mother's partnering… except I feel this is no dalliance. The tenant, one Miss Juliet Honore, is lately returned from a sojourn overseas. She is of stern countenance, save when she and mother exchange pleasantries, whereupon she is a tongue tied schoolgirl! And mother, well… she seems enchanted. I feel, at the least, this is a deep acquaintance,” she adjusted her hands in her lap and looked between her two cousins, “But I hope it is more. Mother has been lonely since father passed. Truly, she loved him, deeply. But, perhaps, it was not the  _ same _ sort of love; a fondness, a kindness… but when she talks with Juliet? It is the sort of gaze I can only wish to receive from someone. And that I hope to one day cast upon another.”

Glimmer and Catra exchanged a look that was wet with emotion and fondness. Glimmer reached over and squeezed Perfuma’s hand, “It will happen, ‘Fuma. I pray that you find it.”

“As long as it is not with Mr Archer?” teased Catra. It earned her a faint, but half hearted scowl from Glimmer and a broad, freckled grin from Perfuma.

“Miss Moon?” the tentative query broke their small circle for a moment. All three women turned and answered at the same time:

“Yes?”

The object of their amusement was, of course, Mr Archer. He looked momentarily stunned then grinned, “I rather stepped into that one, did I not? Although you, my dear, are Ms Lucas, are you not?”

Perfuma, inclined her head slightly, “Just so. But my mother is a Moon and so I would be remiss to not take advantage to guarantee at least one amusing anecdote?”

“Very droll indeed! Capital!” Mr Archer clapped his hands and grinned, then looked to Glimmer, his smile becoming almost bashful, “Ms  _ Glimmer _ Moon, as promised, may I steal you away before the dance? I would like to introduce you to my sister, if you would be so kind?”

Glimmer stared, then nodded rapidly. She stood and took Mr Archer’s hand, then let herself be led across the room towards the gathered family. Perfuma glanced at Catra with a faint frown, “Rather overwhelming, surely?”

Catra merely shrugged, “She wishes to partake, she needs to accept all the accessories as well. Notably, a lot more siblings. Of course, she  _ is _ well versed.”

“True. They do make an adorable couple too.”

“Hmmm, quite.”

“And are you on the lookout for a potential prospect?” Perfuma leaned over and nudged Catra gamefully, her smile suggestive. Catra huffed.

“I doubt any here fit my particular aspirations.”

“Well, a dance is just a dance, not a promise, cousin dear. Enjoy it for what it is. Though there is a gentleman who appears rather curious.”

Catra arched an eyebrow, “Where? And what?”

“Some tall fellow - I am not familiar with him. Strange, he was over by the Archers momentarily… but appears to have absconded. Truly, he was regarding you most closely it appeared. But such a countenance! Disagreeable, stern.”

“Well, I will certainly not dance with one who  _ scowls _ at me. A waste of time to be sure. And what of your, Perfuma? Anyone caught your fancy?”

The blonde sighed and shook her head, “None; I may see whether the Archers have a bachelor… available? But I think it unlikely with the cavalcade of ladies with them. Truly, though, the prospect does not  _ excite _ me. I’d rather dance and be merry than be concerned with the prospects of acquiring a suitor. It rather detracts from the whimsy, does it not?”

Catra eyed her cousin and gave a half smile, “Oh so impractical of you, Perfuma.”

“You are a fine one to jest; limiting yourself… but I am proud that you have become  _ yourself _ , Catra. Envious, perhaps,” Perfuma sounded almost wistful for a moment, then shrugged, “But mother dear would so like me to be secure. I know she worries. So, I must consider my options, as the sole Lucas heir.”

“A hefty burden. But do not wish away your whimsy for the sake of duty. More than enough of that to go around,” grumbled Cata. She saw her drink was finished and placed the small glass onto the tray of a passing server, then stood, “I will take a turn, speak to the others of repute… and try to ensure Entrapta has not ignited a conflagration beneath a table.”   


Perfuma smiled, “Again?”

“Indeed.  _ Again _ . Come with?”

“Indeed so!”

The pair stood and took a walk around the room’s perimeter, making small talk with the various well-to-dos of the county. Catra caught glimpses of Angella making light conversation with other matriarchs of various families, whilst Micah was in an enthusiastic exchange with a tall gentleman with dreadlocks and a face that was akin to an older Mr Archer - one of the fathers, perhaps?

They found themselves at the food table, where a servant was arranging a platter of small cheeses. Catra plucked one with a skewer and frowned at the taste, “Rather tart.”

“Indeed; apparently brought up from Elberon by our new neighbour. These city delicacies are rather too much for my palate I fear.”

Catra nodded slowly; the food wasn’t bad, just not what she was used to - simple fare (Though, perhaps, not quite so simple as to be found in a tavern); much of the food here had  _ olives _ or  _ oranges _ involved in their preparation. Solid meats and minimal vegetables was her preferred dish and this was all so  _ varied _ .

The pair picked at the food and took a refreshed glass of sherry each, before retiring to the chairs beside the mirror. Perfuma paused then huffed, “Mama dearest is gesturing to me, do excuse me for a moment Catra.”

The brunette chuckled and adjusted one black glove, “I fear you are about to be promised to some rake!”

Perfuma tutted and smiled, “I don’t think she’d  _ dare _ . But I do spy Ms Juliet loitering at the entrance, so perhaps she merely wishes me to save her from her current conversation for better fare?”

“Always the knight, aren’t you Perfuma?” Catra gave her a cocky smirk and Peruma returned an elaborate shrug.

“Well all play our parts. Mine are just more exciting at times!”

Catra watched her cousin go and shook her head, then stole a glance to the double doors where there was indeed a rather handsome woman. Her hair was a rich brown and her gown a deep silver design, laced at the front, with shoulders covered. It almost looked like armour as the light caught it, but it flowed well. She looked commanding and yet had an air of discomfort about her; as if the surrounds of the ball were awkward and alien. It was a feeling Catra remembered well, from her young days; to be surrounded by strangers and unsure.

It was interesting to watch as the woman’s face shifted from awkward reservation to sudden, unbridled joy as Aunt Casta approached. Catra observed and felt a twinge; a pang of  _ longing _ so sudden it made her twitch in surprise. The woman - Juliet - schooled her features but Catra could still see the way the women regarded one another; the gentle way that Casta took her arm in her own and let her, confidently, into the throng.

She felt the presence of others sitting about her and smiled when she recognised the rather  _ preeminent _ Friends of Mara - the Telae’s. Netossa had a rather large plate stacked with food, held carefully in one hand. The other smoothed her purple and grey dress down as she adjusted herself. Her hair was done up into a braid, the silver highlight of the strands neatly confined - a far cry from her usually unkempt and wild appearance.

Her partner (For truly, Catra was uncertain as to their arrangement) sat down on Catra’s other side, her deep purple gown hugging her curves well; she wore a lighter purple shawl about her shoulders, which she twitched into a more comfortable position, then smiled at Catra.

“Ms Moon, lovely to see you. We had hoped to call on you for tea last week, but found ourselves waylaid!”

Netossa snorted, “Accosted by a  _ gentleman _ no less!”

Spinnerella huffed and gave her partner a frown, “Oh you; you rather enjoyed his company, if I recall!”

Netossa’s scowl split into a genuine smile, “Actually, true. Mr Archer is a very game fellow! A bit awkward and unsure at first but not at all unpleasant. He has even invited me to go  _ shooting _ with the gentlemen this coming week!”

Catra blinked in shock, “Shooting? But surely that is a gentleman’s occupation?”

“Rubbish,” snorted Netossa, “And it’s his land, he can do whatever. Though he did warn me he is a rather good shot. Very vague on that though when I asked about his favoured calibre… said something about  _ yew _ wood. Never seen a blunderbuss made of yew!”

The brunette smiled, “And do you intend to attend in your finery?”

“Whatever allows me to yomp about in the mud will suffice! And I dare say my better half would down right murder me if I ruined her latest creation,” she gestured to her dress and Catra nodded slowly, eyes wide as she appraised the gown. She turned to Spinnerella.

“I did not realise you were a tailor, madam!”

“We all have our talents, Ms Moon; I was graced with one befitting societal expectations of a woman… insofar as I can create. Establishing my own business, well.. That took more in the way of force. For which I am grateful that my wife is as persistent as an avalanche,” Spinnerealla smiled and tossed her hair, currently dyed a grey-purple, over her shoulder. Her gentle face shifted into a soft smile and Netossa  _ blushed. _

_ “ _ Well, I couldn’t very well let those dingbats in Elberon throw away talent like yours, my love. But at least things are changing. Fifteen years ago, yes it was  _ scandalous _ . But, we’re rather past that now. They were more offended at my dear Spinny running things in town without a man at the helm than they were at us being an item.”

The women chuckled at that and the trio exchange pleasantries. Catra felt the chair behind hers adjust slightly as someone moved, but was rather caught up in the minor gossip from the elder women; the comings and goings, the fashions coming from Elberon and Spinnerella’s own business - how they were in the country for an extended break, as her tailoring firm was now a rather large and profitable concern!

After an appropriate amount of small talk, Spinnerella peered about the room and then leaned into Catra, “So, any young, available ladies that have caught your fancy?”

The person behind Catra coughed slightly, as if sputtering on their drink. It made Catra smile slightly; despite the understanding of the locals, and in fact their eager attitudes to embrace the  _ new _ and maybe-not-so-new, some were still a bit perplexed by the idea. She glanced about the ball and sighed.

“I fear not; a true curse of the country life; especially as many are looking for husbands. I am not here to garner an  _ alliance _ or some sort of contract. I hope, one day, it will be of my own volition, not of pretty fancy or an undignified flirtation.”

The elder women exchanged a knowing look, “Ahhhh romance,” Netossa murmured, “An aspiration to be sure. But how can you be sure there are none here? Have you even looked?”

Catra shifted uncomfortably, then shrugged, “Glimmer and Mermista are more the talk today and… I do not feel I am able to garner the interest of one who might be a  _ friend _ of Mara; how would one even begin that conversation? How to progress or probe the inquiry? How to advance my affections beyond mere friendship without risking it?”

Netossa patted her shoulder, then smiled at her wife ( _ Wife! _ Truly, such things were possible), “Well, we managed my dear. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t quick… but no things in this life are truly simple if they are worth having. And you are a beautiful young woman, who likely has shattered the hearts of men across the county; take faith that a heart beats for you somewhere, in the form you wish it to be.”

A change in the tempo of the music made Spinnerella perk up, “Ah! Dancing! Catra my dear, would you excuse us?”

The young brunette smiled and waved at them, “Off you go, prance away. It will do me good to imagine this as my future, rather than spinsterhood.”   


“Pish posh, Catra,” admonished Netossa.

“Ahh but how could I compete with so many fine ladies?” grinned Catra, “Truly, I am outmatched! Now, off you go, before Glimmer steals  _ all _ the space. She is all heels and toes with dancing.”

The married coupled chuckled, nodded, then stepped away, arm in arm. Catra sighed and watched as they took to the floor, opposite one another. The dancers, arrayed opposite one another. Glimmer and Mr Archer faced each other, ridiculous smiles on their faces as they began the back and forth in time with their partners. Netossa and Spinnerella were laughing as they moved back and forth in time with their line, hands coming up to clasp briefly as they swayed.

“M’lady,” came a voice from behind her, “I could not help but overhear. I think, should you glance to your left that you will find the most lovely woman of all at this very ball.”

The voice was soft, calm, with a halting, feminine edge to it. It was faintly familiar. Almost without thinking, Catra glanced to her left and found herself regarding the mirror. She frowned, seeing no one else sat there, then her gaze fell upon her own reflection. She chuckled and shook her head, “Well now, such forwardness I am told is unbecoming from a lady.”

“Well I find it peculiarly charming, paired with such a striking countenance as yours.”   


Catra chuckled, “Oh so I am the one who is forward? Pray elaborate, for I find myself at a loss,” she smirked and sipped at her sherry.

“Well, a lady with such a striking gaze and equally bold attire must surely command attention and intend to do so,” came the easy reply, “Truly, a boldness that sets others aside and shows no fear. How can that be anything other than forward, confident and commanding?”

The voice was amused, but flattering; their tone genuine and even, unless she was quite mistaken, a little halting. Perhaps more nervous than she had assumed? What fair flower was this, so bold, so unabashed, yet also so tremulous?

Catra adjusted her gloves one more, “Well, you yourself are hardly a shrinking violet in your pursuit. I wonder whether your own forwardness is likewise paired with a supposedly pleasing visage?”

There was a faint stutter of breath, “Well, I believe it is not worth your bother, my lady. I merely wished to ensure you were aware that you are, indeed, the belle… and it would not… I could not hold a flicker...”

The sudden shift made Catra roll her eyes, “Come now, such modesty is unbecoming after so confident a thrust! Such boldness must stem from a true….”

She turned in her chair to regard her admirer and faltered. Scruffy blonde hair and a dark coat with red lining. She blinked, her azure and gold set eyes fluttering in mild confusion. She stuttered out her last word.

“...beauty?” The figure tilted their chin back and stiffed ever so slightly. Catra’s face set in a  _ firmly _ neutral expression and she sighed, “Ah. A man.”

And then those cold, sharp eyes locked onto hers and she felt  _ something _ jolt within her, a strange stifling feeling. 

Deep deep blue, set with a faint hint of grey steel. Like stormclouds upon a peaceful sky. The blonde stranger inclined their head and a thin lipped attempt at a smile crossed their face, “Ms Moon, a pleasure to make your acquaintance again. I apologise for disturbing you. And also for my… abrupt manner the other day.”

The gentleman stood and gave a short bow. Catra blinked, dumbfounded and coughed, “Sir, you have the advantage of me. Doubly so for your rather uncalled for attentions.”

The man nodded abruptly once more, “I merely wished to make amends for my earlier… rudeness? And I could not help but overhear your… concerns. Mr de Gray, at your service. I will leave you to enjoy the ball, madam. Good evening.”

She watched as the man executed another stiff bow, then saw him stalk towards the Archer crowd, where he seemed to vanish into their throng.

Catra blinked and shook her head. Another  _ man _ trying to press his suit? The audacity!

And yet why had that look touched her so?

She huffed and stood, then headed for her family. What she needed right now was another drink and, perhaps, a chance to set the world to rights. A glance told her that Glimmer was  _ still _ dancing with Mr Archer, though the latter appeared to be distracted by something momentarily. With a huff, Catra circled the dance and found Mermista, who was sat with a book in hand. Catra sat down heavily next to her, which drew a gaze of both irritation and concern from her sibling.

“So, bad encounter?” murmured Mermista.

“Mr de Gray appears to want to engage in  _ discourse _ with me.”   


“Oh? He seems conspicuous by his absence?” chuckled Mermista.

“Well! He came over, flattered me in some sort of womanly tone, then apologised and stormed off!”

“Ohhhh is he the one who looks as if he’s eaten something bitter?”

“The very same!”

Mermista shrugged, “Not bad on the eyes and I hear he is worth…”

“I do not care for his stipend, his holdings or his britches!” hissed Catra, “Only that he… was so… so…  _ forward _ . And  _ charming _ . And… not…”

“A lady?”

“Exactly!” Catra folded her arms and growled, “I wish to dance, but the thought of it makes my skin itch.”

“It is just dancing, Catra. Not betrothal. Get up, take a turn with some partners, you might find a young lady of confused countenance whom you can persuade?” Mermista nudged her and Catra coughed in disgust.

“I am not some… temptress!”

“Mr de Gray maybe believes so!”

“Then he is a perfect example of the lack of bearing in men. He should know better.”

“Regardless, go, dance. Let me finish my book in peace.”

Catra nudged her and huffed, “Shant.”

“You sound like Frosta.”

“Ugh. You make a point so valid it pains me. Very well. But you must partner with me for the first steps? To ensure my card is not taken by some cad.”

“If I must…” grinned Mermista. Together they stood and made their way to the floor. As they danced, Catra felt eyes upon her but dismissed them. It irked her, being approached so. Yet the apology, the confusion of emotions upon the face of Mr de Gray; the strangeness of their countenance: somehow it served to mollify her irritation to merely a mild confusion.

The gentleman was new to the area, he was not to know of her aversions. And yet he had been so forthright, so forward it was bordering on scandalous. In truth, she had wished for a woman of such bearing; truly the universe played a cruel trick to immediately deliver a man of such focus and attitude.

She pushed Mr de Gray from her mind and spun and danced with her sisters and even several of the Archer brothers; married men all, it turned out. And that, she did not mind as much. Cavorting and losing herself in the music and the set of steps between partners, she relaxed.

Truly, she would not think on Mr de Gray and his sour countenance. His tense bearing. His sad, blue eyes.

She would not.

Catra was exceedingly good at lying to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one - Part 1 of 2 of the BALL!
> 
> And it's just their first ball ;) have to have some frisson for their first PROPER meeting. We will get Ad...AMs view next chapter ;)
> 
> This is the scene I wanted to pay homage to:
> 
> https://twitter.com/adooboo1/status/1308809251565875200/photo/2


	6. A glimpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam partakes of the ball.
> 
> Assumptions are made
> 
> A risk is taken... and promptly failed.
> 
> (The ball from Adam's perspective)

The evening was a tumultuous one, this was a proven fact. Social events were always a precarious balancing act of socially acceptable decorum and frustrating irritation. It was one reason that Adam made sure to only attend for the minimum  _ acceptable _ amount of time. High society demanded one be visible; not  _ approachable _ of course - there was a way to things of course.

Three people had approached Adam  _ directly _ to introduce themselves, which was  _ quite _ improper - decorum demanded that (as they had not presented themselves in a more formal method via the House) the host of this…. Soiree present the guests to those of a higher station. Perform  _ proper _ introductions. But no, apparently local gentry went about just  _ saying hello directly _ .

It was most confusing and had left Adam with a rather stern set to their brow.

It didn’t help that the binder was being very constrictive this evening and the room was approaching unpleasant in its warmth - a side effect of a roaring fire at the side of the room and the presence of so many bodies in such a confined space. It being a local hall it was hardly grand by Elberon standards. In reality, Adam could have fitted this one room into the main ballroom at Greyskull Manor with room to spare.

Of course Adam was not so crass as to point that out.

It was quite surprising at the sheer number of moneyed individuals in the shire. Some awkward conversations had indicated that many of the individuals were  _ Sirs _ \- Merchants who had procured a title or merely managed to accord themselves a facsimile of gentility via the acquisition of wealth.

Whilst Adam respected the work ethic, there was a certain vulgarity of the assumption that being rich meant they believed themselves  _ cultured _ .

Or even with a dim awareness of social mores.

Of course, Adam had accompanied the Archers who had a very loose approach to all that anyway, but they got away with it by being both affable  _ and _ cultured. Their enthusiasm was infectious. Of course, they were in full flow, overwhelming the room with their charm; indeed the clan appeared to have occupied a full third of the small ballroom.

Adam had retreated to near the main door, where a faint draft provided some measure of relief from both the warmth of the room and the stifling air of the company present. The respite was short lived as a commotion from the entryway beyond drew Adam’s attention.

A  _ circus _ practically fell into the room - a whirlwind of femininity that gave a pulse of faint resentment and interest breath within Adam’s chest. A tall, regal woman with a noble bearing - her angular features were striking and she immediately dominated the room. Her presence was slightly under cut by the shorter man on her arm - still of proud countenance, he had an air of excitement about him. 

They were followed by said circus - a bustling, rustling collection of young ladies. At this angle Adam barely got a decent regard of them, beyond one with purple pigtails who practically bowled into the room, alongside a smaller one in a blue dress - the pair practically dashed into the crowd, heading for some manner of refreshment. Not even awaiting their own  _ announcement _ .

Practically  _ feral _ .

The other three were more mature - a tall girl with darker skin and a teal dress, and a bored expression; and two who seemed vaguely familiar - or rather the one with outrageously sparkling hair was - Adam could not take the measure of the brunette on her arm, dressed in a striking red dress.

Adam did, however, overhear their eager conversation.

“Worry not,” the girl in red whispered, most salaciously, “If they are akin to Mr Archer, you might find yourself with several options.”

Adam’s grip tightened on their brandy glass. A cold sense of anger settled in Adam’s gut - a familiar recognition. Glory-seekers. Ladder climbing, perhaps. But it did not  _ quite _ match the nerves that were clearly apparent on the pink-haired girl’s face.

This must be the Moon family, Adam surmised. A middle tier collection of ill-mannered, chaotic country gentry. And with ambitions, no less!   


Adam stalked across the floor, only catching the briefest glimpse of the brunette as she turned her face to watch their passage. Adam got a brief glimpse of a fine jaw line, a faint frown and a flash of faint recognition. But instead Adam powered towards the Archers and singled out Beauregard.

“Mr de Gray, enjoying yourself?” Mr Archer grinned at his companion. Adam sighed and shook his head.

“Nary a decent proposition in sight,” they managed.

“I bet you haven’t even tried to review your options. I know from a brief survey of the room that many have reviewed  _ you _ .”   


“And you know the challenge  _ that _ presents.”

“Perhaps. And your expected object of attraction?”

Adam grimaced, “I believe she has arrived along with her clan. And I use the word with all meaning - a bunch of reavers and raiders intent on the Archer name and fortune.”

Beauregard shot Adam a very skeptical look, “Oh, indeed? You believe them intent on dishonouring me or attempting to acquire station?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“And what, mayhap, has brought this asinine conclusion?”

“I may have overhead them considering multiple prospects from the Archers at the door.”   


Beauregard shook his head, “You are being a tad overwrought  _ Adam _ . You see treachery everywhere,” he inclined his head and arched his eyebrows, dark skin flushed as he smiled, “I am capable of surviving my own affairs.”

“Affairs which you will walk into without your eyes open to the possibility of  _ betrayal _ .”

“Such is the risk of love, my friend. I… I know you yourself are no stranger to these risks. But I cannot and will not hold myself back on the basis of misheard  _ poppycock _ .”

Adam gave an exasperated gesture, “Fine. Just do not be surprised at the shock should things fail to fall into place. I merely ask for you to be more  _ cautious _ . Do not make my mistake.”

Beauregard softened his expression faintly and nodded, “I understand… now, if you do not mind.”

With a harrumph, Adam turned and stalked through the crowd to where the servants were serving more brandy. He plucked a glass and supped at it, back against the wall, eyes scanning the throng. Adam watched as Beauregard exchanged a few words with his parents, the two fathers slapping his shoulders in encouragement. Lance even shook a fist and grinned. Adam bit at their lip and winced at the paternal display something so familiar, yet also so far removed now.

With a shudder, Adam swept their gaze across the room once more - eyes landing upon the Moon women once more. Or rather, upon two of them. They appeared to be in conference with a third, whilst a fourth woman with raven locks moved away from their little huddle.

Mr de Gray took a moment to study the group. The object of Mr Archer’s affections - Ms Glimmer Moon, if Mr de Gray remembered correctly - was certainly nervous and appeared to be shooting glances towards the Archer party. Perhaps nervous her ruse to ensnare such a noble man would fail? Fear of the task ahead? Nervous she would miss her chance and someone else might step into her path to glory?

The blonde of the group was a willowy sort and Adam recognised her - she had been  _ properly _ introduced, at least, by her mother and the host of the event. Ms Perfuma Lucas. Certainly a homely sort and she had appeared confused at Adam’s countenance. It had induced a fear in Adam - a sense of being  _ seen _ that they had not, heretofore, experience. But Perfuma had just smiled and curtseyed and made polite conversation before Adam had excused themselves.

The third woman…

The.

The third woman.

Was a woman.

Yes.

Very much so.

She.

Yes well.

Woman. Third part of the group.

Lady.

_ Lady _ .

Adam’s grip on the brandy glass would possibly have shattered it had they not set it down. Why was it suddenly so  _ unbearably _ warm.

How had Adam  _ not _ realised sooner? The proud countenance, the confident smirk, the straight set to her posture? And, even from here, a scant twenty feet, Adam could see the fire in her eyes, although not the colour.

Without the confusion of movement Adam could now take in her all. Her shape, her standing, her protective gestures towards Ms Glimmer Moon. This was the girl from the woods; the one who matched wits and looked like she had lost a fight with a bramble bush. And  _ now _ she looked like she had stepped from the pages of some printed page of a particularly fantastical tale. The set of her arms, encased in those gloves; the hang of the dress, laced at the back, revealing a modest amount of cleavage. The flow of her hair set into a messy and yet almost provocative weave.

Adam blinked as her released Perfuma had glanced across the room towards them. Adam turned to refresh their glass and took a deep draught.

This was ridiculous. A sole encounter in woodland. A minor exchange of verbal barbs. And now a barely coherent view across a crowded room and they were  _ smitten _ ? Not hardly!

It was clearly the warmth. The room. The pressure of all these local gentry and their fawning ways. Adam was merely off-centred, of course. This was the most logical explanation. Light headed. Frustrated for Beauregard who did not see the danger.

It was likely this was not a deep attraction, but a fear response? Recognition of another threat to his dear friend?

Yes. That was logical.

Adam took another brandy glass and sunk it, then turned to see Beauregard escorting Glimmer towards the Archers. She noted Lance in conversation with Mr Moon and frowned. Lance was usually an excellent judge of character but he seemed genuinely enamoured with the bearded Mr Moon.

Fortified with sufficient alcohol Adam managed to navigate through the Archers and caught sight of the raven haired woman - Mrs Casta Lucas, that was her. She seemed deep in conversation with a new arrival. Adam faltered, mid stride and stared - the  _ look _ the pair of women exchanged, the tentative touches. She watched as the new arrival practically sagged as soon as Mrs Lucas reached her. Behind them, Adam could make out Ms Perfuma Lucas engaging a rather red faced gentleman in polite conversation and felt a short pang of empathy as she considered the blonde’s forced smile. A stark contrast to the almost tender expression on the face of her mother.

It was confusing. She understood that, in Elberon, these sort of things were acceptable and, frankly, long overdue. But here? Truly? No one seemed to be accosting the women, so perhaps it was merely a deep friendship?

And why had these thoughts manifested? Adam had hardly given a consideration to the inter relational trajectory of the other guests. Why was this so noticeable?

_ Truly vexing _ came Adam’s thoughts. They continued through the throne, arms clasped behind their back and then took in another sight - the  _ other _ Ms Moon.

Catra?

Yes.

She was sat alone on one of the set ranks of chairs, face a mask of contentment. Adam was on the opposite side of the row now and, on a whim, moved to sit as well. They took the chair behind Ms Catra Moon, just as another pair of ladies sat next to the bewitching brunette.

A servant handed over another glass as they sashayed past, which Adam took gratefully. The conversation behind was interesting. And incredibly enlightening.

Of course Beauregard had charmed them - he was that way inclined after all; a friend to all. He had missed a trick in not joining the Governmental departments concerned with overseas relations, a missed opportunity of course!

Adam barely repressed a grin at the woman’s commentary about a  _ yew _ blunderbuss. Truly the ladies were in for a shock. Beauregard could do wonders with an arrow. True to his namesake, of course.

Adam was stunned at the admission that, not only were these ladies people of  _ business _ and  _ capability _ but they were also  _ married _ . It should not have been such a shock, but the fact they were here and none commented on it was both amazing and also heartbreaking. Adam adjusted the chair, which squeaked faintly and took a sip of the wine - mixing drinks was, perhaps, a poor idea.

Then came the question,  _ “So, any young, available ladies that have caught your fancy?” _

Adam practically spluttered and had to fish for a handkerchief to dab at the speckles of wine down the front of their waistcoat. Mind a blur, Adam managed to refocus on the chatter behind: the profession of a union not for alliance, but for…

_ Love? _

Cruel irony, to be sure. To be afflicted with aspirations of romance that were so counter to expectations of duty and familial bond? 

And it called into question the Moon’s motivations. Were the parents setting their children on acquisitive paths and this one merely a rebel? Or were they all likewise charmed by the prospect of love? The latter prospect seemed fanciful.

Love was a lie. A fabrication. A thing invented to explain momentary attachment for gain.

It was vulnerability. It was the release of control. It was a surrender to forces not within the bounds of ones own mind.

And in that moment, addled with a small amount of imbibed courage, it was something that called to Adam. Or rather called to something that  _ Adam _ was forced to conceal.

For Catra raised some pertinent points as she spoke - how did one  _ explore _ the possibility, surrounded by circumstance and decorum? Adam listened as the young woman outlined the difficulties of exploring and identifying; of broaching that most delicate of topics. Which was of course met with a brusque, knowing response, from those who had made it already.

That was almost as infuriating. Adam knew from experience that there was little more useless in life than well-meant platitudes. Pleasant as the women were, there was a naivete in their couching - that things would be  _ well _ .

The world did not operate according to that design, Adam knew that well enough.

But the wistfulness in Catra’s tone chimed at something within Adam’s bound breast, something close to recognition and care. A longing for  _ something _ . TO be seen, of course. To be reminded that others  _ saw _ you. As you really were. And so the words spilled forth as Adam stared at the woman in profile, set in the mirror to their side.

“M’lady,” Adam began falteringly, their voice not as deep as normally affected, “I could not help but overhear. I think, should you glance to your left that you will find the most lovely woman of all at this very ball.”

Adam watched in the mirror, their own visage obscured by the angle, as Catra stared into the glass. From here, Adam could see the mismatch of her eyes, the dusting of freckles across olive skin. Could see the elfin shape of her features more clearly, her demure nose and dimpled face, framed by rebellious locks and streaked hair. Catra’s laugh, when it came, was a squeaked chuckle that tickled something in Adam’s soul.

“Well now, such forwardness I am told is unbecoming from a lady,” the voice, filled with the same heat, but banked, as from the woodland.

Adam tried to parse the meaning, however. Was Catra assuming that she would not be so forward? Admiring the approach? “Well I find it peculiarly charming, paired with such a striking countenance as yours.”

“Oh so I am the one who is forward? Pray elaborate, for I find myself at a loss,” again Catra chuckled and Adam pondered a moment more. Had Catra assumed that Adam was a  _ lady _ ? Their heart skipped for a moment, whether in joy or fear they could not comprehend.

Well, a lady with such a striking gaze and equally bold attire must surely command attention and intend to do so,” came Adam’s easy reply, “Truly, a boldness that sets others aside and shows no fear. How can that be anything other than forward, confident and commanding?”

Adam watched as Catra adjusted her gloves in the mirror as she responded, “Well, you yourself are hardly a shrinking violet in your pursuit. I wonder whether your own forwardness is likewise paired with a supposedly pleasing visage?”

That made Adam pause as the alcohol failed to dull the realisation. Adam’s eyes widened and they stuttered for a moment as logic  _ finally _ shouldered  _ idealism _ aside. Catra was a Friend of Mara and not interested in gentlemanly advances. Adam was a gentleman.

This was liable to go poorly.

Adam attempted to deflect, their usual standoffish demeanour flummoxed, “Well, I believe it is not worth your bother, my lady. I merely wished to ensure you were aware that you are, indeed, the belle… and it would not… I could not hold a flicker...”

Catra was, it seemed, rather forthright, however. And that was entirely too interesting for Adam to parse in that moment, her voice almost impatient, “Come now, such modesty is unbecoming after so confident a thrust! Such boldness must stem from a true….”

Adam turned and leaned away, a lump in their throat. And then Catra’s words sliced through the air like a honed blade.

“...beauty?” Adam stiffed and Catra’s face set in a firmly neutral expression as she sighed, “Ah. A man.”

It had been inevitable, but Adam’s one attempt to bring some measure of  _ pleasure _ to another had, once more, fallen foul of fate. But then slate grey-blue eyes met gold and ocean blue. The world seemed to silence for the merest moment, but also seemed to stretch to an eternity.

_ Strike me down, for I have seen the eyes of heaven _ , came the words to Adam’s mind.

Adam’s very self felt tense, primed. It took all Adam’s effort to stop their face breaking out into a ridiculously broad and frankly addled grin. Instead, Adam marshalled their thoughts and managed to speak, “Ms Moon, a pleasure to make your acquaintance again. I apologise for disturbing you. And also for my… abrupt manner the other day.”

As Adam stood and managed a bow, a confused and hostile expression briefly floated across Catra’s face. Then she blinked and coughed, “Sir, you have the advantage of me. Doubly so for your rather uncalled for attentions.”

The words stung but Adam could not fault them. Discretion was likely the better part of valour here, and so Adam pressed on, “I merely wished to make amends for my earlier… rudeness? And I could not help but overhear your… concerns. Mr de Gray, at your service. I will leave you to enjoy the ball, madam. Good evening.”

With a haste that bordered on improper, Adam gave a curt bow, then turned and moved away. Through the crowd, breaking eyeline, to safety.

A door.

Breathing heavily, Adam pushed through and found themselves in a cool, dimly lit corridor. With a sigh, Adam leaned against a wall and pressed their forehead to the cold plaster. A single word was all that could really sum up the issue.

“Bugger.”

It took a few moments along with an adjustment of their cravat, but Adam rolled their shoulders and stepped back through and into the throng. Beauregard was having a whale of a time, cavorting and moving in time. Adam couldn’t help the grimace that snuck across their face as they moved among the Archers. George glanced their way and frowned but Adam waved away the concern. Instead, they watched as Catra spoke to another of the sisters, the one in teal. Adam saw the girl glance their way, then turn to talk to Catra once more.

That made Adam grimace all the more and they moved out of eyesight and to the room’s edge. Perhaps it was best to retire early, to scrub the entire sordid evening from ones memory and… then what?

And that was indeed Adam’s intent, until they spotted Catra move to dance. And that froze Mr de Gray to the spot.

She moved through the formal steps with a barely restrained energy, the quirk of her hips and the toss of her hair like some fey thing of myth, set to ensare a passing Knight errant. Adam’s eyes could not tear themselves away.

But how? Adam barely  _ knew _ the girl! This was infatuation. A cruel jest that there existed a woman in the world who was amenable, in a part of the nation that was  _ tolerant _ . And not, apparently, in the business of merely settling for a title or monies.

But the stark reality was the true irony of the situation - Adam could not give a prospective suitor what they desired: family. Adam was, after all,  _ lacking _ in the ability, somewhat, certainly for the suitors of a feminine persuasion.  The twist being that Adam was, of course, attracted to women. Very much so. But the situation meant that such a match brought the aforementioned issues along with other revelations that would be problematic. After all, why wouldn't a gentle _man_ be attracted to the fairer sex?

Of course Adam would sight and fall for a young woman who, under other circumstances, would perhaps have been the correct match. But the world was full of cruel irony.

So, for now, Adam contented themselves with watching Catra dance and laugh. The morrow would bring reality and formality, but a return to the back and forth until a solution presented itself.

Duty, after all, was paramount.

If only it didn’t sting so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much momentum here, of course, but wanted Adam's view before we jump to the next exciting bit. A reverend will make a call and Glimmer will catch a cold.
> 
> Then Catra can MEET THE DADS as well as a certain Mr de Gray.


	7. Unbecoming of a lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion over breakfast
> 
> Glimmer makes a visitation
> 
> A cordial exchange perhaps.

“You should call upon Mr Archer.”

Glimmer regarded her father across the breakfast table, teacup halfway to her lips. She frowned faintly, “Would that not be terribly presumptuous.”

Mr Moon lowered the letter he was reading, along with the other hand which currently help a pair of spectacles halfway between his face and the parchment. He smiled fondly at his daughter, “Call it taking the initiative, my dear.”

Mrs Moon’s exhalation was loud but tinged with the fondness of years, “Dearest, there is an art to this.”

“And I am not a well versed creative in such endeavours?” Mr Moon made a gesture with his spectacles and huffed in indignation, though clearly feigned, “My dearest, you wound me! My earnest and forthright approach won your heart, did it not?”

Mrs Moon maintained a stare across the table that drew out the silence to an almost uncomfortable level. Mermista, buttering her toast, bit her lip to muffle a snigger. Catra hummed and studied the ceiling of the dining room, then nudged Glimmer. Frosta and Entrapta shared a confused glance and spared their attention between their parents.

“I don’t understand,” frowned Entrapta, her brow furrowed in deep consternation. Mr Moon huffed again.

“My darling, your mother is being a cruel thing to her long suffering husband. Torturous, I say. My nerves are frazzled, bewitched and strung like a viola.”

Mrs Moon cracked and smiled, “And one I am adept at playing, I know. Forgive me my love. Your earnest efforts were… endearing. A little bit unnerving, I grant you but I admired your persistence.”

Glimmer groaned and leaned back in her chair, “Please, not the story of him serenading you…”

“...in that rainstorm! With a violin! Ah! What a memory.”

Mrs Moon sighed again, “You know I couldn’t hear anything over the rain, don’t you dear.”

“I know. But the  _ ambience _ . The setting! It was magical. And seeing you framed in the window, lit by the fire…” Mr Moon’s voice became soft, reverent, “The most beautiful sight I had ever seen. And your beauty grows each day as I see you anew.”

The girls rolled their eyes with the collective familiarity of seeing parents who loved one another. A tired attempt at dismissal, but in reality couched with fondness and faint envy for the state in which Micah and Angella found themselves. Mrs Moon bit her lip and blushed, then looked to Glimmer.

“There are worse plans. You  _ could _ wait for him to invite you…”

“Or, you know, just walk there, take in the grounds of Thaymor… free county and all,” Catra dabbed a napkin at her face and grinned at her sister, “And if you happen to cross his path, well, what a wondrous coincidence.”

The sound of the bell distracted the family momentarily and the butler entered shortly with a note, which he dutifully placed next to Micah. Mr Moon smiled and nodded, then thumbed open the seal. He read the note, his expression neutral. It shifted to the countenance of a man appraising an interesting specimen, then to a frown, then to a purse-lipped musing.

“Well, it would appear our various anticipations and thoughts of skullduggery are for naught! The man is eager I will grant him that. I’m minded to grant him more! With your blessing, of course, dearest,” he smiled over at Angella, who folded her napkin and gestured to the note.

“Husband dearest, you tease the girls. Speak plainly.”

“Of course. Glimmer, it would appear Mr Archer cannot abide to be parted from you and has requested your company for tea. Though that might be a happy coincidence as he also mentions a shoot… so you’ll be tagging along?”

His manner was aloof, but an affectation. Glimmer squeaked and snatched at the note, much to Catra’s amusement. She cackled, a sound which drew a frown from her mother, but a frown that could not be held for long as Angella had to bite her own lip, lest she fall to the same merriment at Glimmers frantic reading.

“Tomorrow? So soon! The ball was but yesterday! It… it’s improper! Isn’t it?”

“Weren’t you just so eager a moment ago?” chided Catra. She knocked Glimmer’s shoulder, then forked a large helping of bacon into her mouth.

“Catra, that is most unladylike,” admonished Mrs Moon, “Also, your sister is clearly… enamoured. Be kind.”

“Will you come with me, Catra? I feel… unnerved,” Glimmer frowned, clearly ill at ease at requiring a chaperone. The thought was not a comforting one to Catra - the memory of piercing blue eyes and a strange countenance warred inside her. A desire to avoid such an awkward confrontation coupled with a curiosity about the owner of such a piercing gaze.

Her father interrupted before she could voice her discomfort, “I would not be so cruel as to subject your sister to that. Mr de Gray was of a most ill-concieved bearing and his forwardness and disregard for Catra was most displeasing. Frankly, I was minded to have words with the man.”

Catra blinked and coughed, “You did not!”

“Well, I would have. And your mother was so minded, also, is that not the case, dearest?”

“For one so elevated, he seemed uncouth and boorish indeed, but perhaps he was too discomfited,” as ever Mrs Moon was harsh but diplomatic, “I did not see him however. He appeared to flit about the place. He did seem a rather focused gentleman.”

Catra looked between them, “You concern is comforting but I assure you the matter was well in hand and is not a topic of analysis. So, please may we move on? I have no wish to be spending my morning considering the intent of Mr de Gray and his lumpen antics.”

Mermista chuckled, “Hardly one you’d go for? A shame, he seemed quite… interesting.”

“Well, mayhap  _ you _ should travel with Glimmer to sound out his intentions and settle yourself?” Catra waved a hand dismissively. Mermista cocked her head and shrugged.

“Maybe I should.”

“Ah… We do have a guest to expect as well, remember.”

The girls exchanged looks, “Guest, father?” ventured Glimmer.

“Oh yes. Ah, did I not mention? Due before the week’s end, according to the last missive...”

Angella fixed her husband with a tolerant smile, “I believe you did not.”

“Ah. Well. Reverend Collins is due to…”

The collective groan from around the table was likely heard in the next county.

\----------

After a prolonged back and forth, it was decided (After much urging from Mr Moon) that Glimmer should take the carriage to the Thaymor estate, as there was a likelihood of rain. Catra pleaded off, citing that the presence of an insufferable and overbearing bore in a Mr de Gray would be more than she was willing to tolerate.

And so it was that Ms Glimmer Moon found herself rattling through the country lanes in her family’s carriage, feeling rather obtuse. A single woman of not so imposing a size riding alone in their open carriage felt far too ostentatious for a journey that would’ve been a simple hour walk. A glance at the greying sky did make her pause at that.

The young lady peered around the driver and saw the grand mansion in the distance, along the boulevard of trees. However, her attention was caught by a spur of motion and she turned to see a white horse canter forward, until it came to a trot next to the carriage. Ms Moon looked up at the rider and frowned inadvertently.

Mr de Gray peered at her from the saddle, then reached up to touch the brim of the top hat, “Ms Moon. You make good time against the storm. What brings you to the estate?”

“Are you in the habit of accosting women on their travels, Mr de Gray?” Glimmer blinked as the words slipped out. Truly, her affront at the man’s presence was on behalf of her sister, whom she felt she owed some form of debt, having not been there to denounce such an uncouth gentleman at the ball.

The gentleman in question arched a dark eyebrow and Glimmer blinked as cool blue eyes regarded her, “Accosting? I must consult my attorney for a consultation on my criminal behaviour.”

Glimmer snorted and blinked, “A jest? You are capable of such?”

“I fear you have the advantage, my lady. I am unsure as to the origin of your animosity and I frankly care not for it,” the words were curt, “You appear to have formulated your opinion, so I will leave you to your ride, good day.”

Ms Moon felt a wash of sudden shame; to be so abrupt, to be so uncouth to another without true cause? But surely she did? “You upbraided my sister!”

“Which one?” Mr de Gray levelled their gaze back to Ms Moon with a sigh.

“Sir, I speak frankly, you know which one. You conversed with no one else at the ball.”

“I paid her a compliment and then excused myself after she made her disapproval of my presence well known. If that counts as upbraiding within your limited experience of the world I fear for your sanity.”

“How dare you!”

Mr de Gray huffed, “Dare, my lady? I merely greeted you. And received a  _ scolding _ from someone  _ elsewhere _ in the social hierarchy to myself.”

A feeling of shame mingled with anger at the arrogance of the man, “Manners are not inherent to the nobility and…”

“Thus far you have exhibited  _ none _ . If your sister has issue with me, she may make consultation herself.”

“You have judged….”

“Do you intend to petition Mr Archer for his hand? Or endeavour to attract his intent to petition you?”

Glimmer’s countenance was comparable to that of a fish for a moment as she gawped, “Sir! Such questions are… you are not in a position to…”

Mr de Gray watched as she sputtered, then snorted again, “I see my appraisal was correct then. Good day Ms Moon. I trust your stay is a pleasant one, I will vex you no further.”

With a kick, the white horse sped up to a canter and Glimmer had a sudden sense that she had perhaps been rather too hasty. She sagged back into the carriage seat and chewed her lip for a moment, then squared her shoulders.

A Moon did not waver; the family stood by their principles and beliefs. She had merely spoken her mind; out of turn, perhaps. But who was this Mr de Gray? He was nobility, such as herself. Surely not so far above them in the way of things? He had attended a country ball! And the Archers themselves seemed approachable. Truly she could not reconcile the sheer difference in their attitudes and bearing.

She watched the white horse in the distance as it veered back into the woods, taking with it the enigmatic rider. Another wave of anxiety flooded through Glimmer - she had been abrupt and, as ever, had allowed her manners to fall to her emotions.

The carriage rattled onto gravel and she found herself frozen in the seat, suddenly unsure whether she was welcome. Would Mr de Gray have denounced her to Mr Archer? Broken a thing before it was even born? Was he that cruel?

“Glimmer! Ah I… I mean  _ Ms Moon! _ ” Beauregard…  _ Mr Archer _ practically bounded down the steps of the mansion, “I am overjoyed to see you! I had hoped you would answer, but I thought it would be a day hence… I am NOT complaining, may I reiterate!”

The footman had no chance to open the door before the exuberant man had his hand on the handle. Glimmer could not mask her smile as Mr Archer offered his hand. She took it and immediately relaxed, “Beau….. Um..  _ Mr Archer _ .”

They both stared at one another, frozen. Then Beauregard shook himself and, grinning, helped her from the carriage, “Welcome. I see you are alone?”

“Did you wish me to bring my whole family?”

“Honestly I am  _ somewhat _ relieved. But perhaps they can join us tomorrow?”   


Glimmer almost stumbled, “You.. wish me to stay the eve?”

“We have rooms a-plenty and I would be a beast to dispatch you when foul weather threatens. Now, come inside. My siblings have mostly departed so I do hope you will not object to my parents and Mr de Gray joining us?”

Glimmer paused and placed a hand over Mr Archer’s, “I fear I have been… hasty with Mr de Gray.”

Mr Archer raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Adam seemed a tad rushed at the stables…”

“I am afraid I was… a tad outspoken?” Ms Moon winced at the words, “Hasty. It was said in the heat of the moment.”

She watched the man’s face. Mr Archer nodded slowly and searched her eyes - it was an oddly intimate gesture. Glimmer found herself unwilling to break the stare from those brown orbs. So gentle, but intense. Full of mirth. A soft smile broke across Beauregard’s face, “Well, I am sure it is a bridge that can be mended.”

“May… may I speak with him?”

“If Adam wishes to speak with you. I cannot command Adam - I can certainly request. What was it you said?”

The pair ascended the stairs, “I… it was an assumption of his approach towards my sister.”

“Ah, Catra, yes?” Ms Moon frowned and looked at Mr Archer who gave a playful shrug, “Mr de Gray mentioned something of crossing paths with her in some small way.”   


“He did?”

“Indeed.”

“And he made no mention of having accosted her?” she felt the righteousness take hold once more but bit it back. Mr Archer paused as they walked into the hallway. He turned slightly to regard her.

“Do not be so quick to judge Mr de Gray. I will ask Adam to speak with you. Now, shall we move to the salon?”

Again Glimmer felt a sense of disconnect - such kindness and gentle chiding from this man. Not one to rush to the defence of his friend; or at least not in so brazen a way as Glimmer had rushed to assume fault. She handed her shawl to a maidservant, then allowed Mr Archer to lead her into a room off of the expansive hall.

Three men lounged within - Mr Archer’s parents, who seemed involved in a chess game; and Mr de Gray, still in his riding attire. He leaned against the mantle and seemed focused on the flames within the hearth. Glimmer saw, for the barest moment, Mr de Gray’s face in profile: unobserved, quiet, the man looked so sad.

Desolate, even.

Her heart clenched with guilt. She moved without thinking and strode to the hearth, bypassing the two men who had risen from their seats. Mr de Gray turned at the movement and stiffed, that expression of sadness hardening into the familiar impassive stare. Glimmer ploughed on.

“Sir, I am… so sorry. I was brash. Uncouth. And thoroughly out of line. I have come into the home of your dear friend and insulted your integrity, your bearing and without a whit as to your motivations. I hope you can forgive an impulsive sister who wishes only to protect her family. And if not, I will of course understand. And if you wish for me to take my leave…. Then I will of course understand. Should you wish to impress as such on Mr Archer.”

Mr de Gray looked  _ stunned _ . Those blues eyes slid away from Glimmer and fixed on Mr Archer who seemed to give a thoroughly confused shrug, followed by a slightly disgruntled arching of his own eyebrow. Glimmer had her face down, waiting for a dismissal it seemed.

Adam ran a hand through tousled blonde hair and made a helpless gesture with a free hand, then shot a beseeching look at the two older gentlemen in the room. For their part, they seemed content to observe, small smiles on their faces. Mr de Gray’s gaze fixed on Glimmer. She coughed and straightened, then swallowed. She looked flushed, embarrassed by yet  _ another _ impulsive outburst.

The pair stared at one another, then Mr de Gray blew out a breath, “Madam, your apology is… accepted. I admit I… may not have made the best of first impressions. I can certainly understand the desire to protect family, wholeheartedly. Truly.”

Glimmer met those blue eyes and saw sincerity there. A faint crack in the impassive mask. She nodded slowly, “Thank you, Mr de Gray. May we start afresh?”

The gentleman looked down at her proffered hand then squared their shoulders and gripped it in return, “Indeed we may. But please do convey to your sister I had no intent to cause offence. My words to her were sincere, even if not reciprocated. I endeavour to be forthright.”

“As do I sir. To my detriment, perhaps.”

“Ever is it thus,” a faint smile graced Mr de Gray’s face, “But please, you are not here for me. Mr Archer, I have monopolised your guest.”

There was a clap as Lance, one of the present father’s, slapped his hands together, “Well, that was entertaining. Ms Moon, a pleasure to see you again! My boy has barely ceased his descriptions of your last dance.”

George chuckled and patted his husband’s shoulder, then stepped around the chair to bow to Glimmer, “Apologies, decorum completely out of the window. Welcome.”

“Sir, that was entirely my fault,” blushed Glimmer, “But hopefully we may proceed? I hope I have not interrupted a pleasant evening?”

“Not at all. Just my dearest here trouncing me once more at chess. You would have thought  _ him _ the soldier and I the cloud-headed romantic!”

Lance chuffed and waved a hand, “You, dear, are just a sore loser.”

Mr Archer the younger stepped in at that point, “Ms Moon has barely a moment to collect herself. My dear, would you care for a drink?”

Ms Moon smiled as she was led to a couch, then sat gratefully. A manservant entered shortly thereafter with a tall glass of something chilled and sweet, then returned again with a tray of tea. Mr de Gray returned to the contemplation of the fire, whilst the fathers queried her on the area; Lance about the history and development, George more on matters of business and likely notables.

For his own part, Mr Archer seemed content to sit next to her and regard her. And, truly, that was not an unpleasant thing, although she felt a blush creep up her neck. Outside, the rain began a drumbeat against the windows and gravel pathway.

Truly, a not unpleasant way to spend an afternoon.

Her glance towards Mr de Gray did raise questions though - the man was certainly capable of more than cold countenance and seemed to have a depth beyond awkward conversation. The companionship of Mr Archer and the affection of the man’s family indicated that there was something in Mr de Gray to be admired; they seemed not a gathering who would tolerate impropriety or callousness for its own sake.

A lull in the rain gave the group cause to venture outside to take in the gardens. Mr Archer seemed particularly enamoured with the space, “Truly, a luxury. I was predominantly exposed only to the city, so having this expanse to do with as I wish? Truly a gift.”   


“I must say, it is… well I never gave it much thought, Mr Archer.”   


“Beauregard.”

“Um… but…”

“No, that is reserved for dusty halls and ballrooms. When we are out here, nary a soul to judge… Beauregard, Ms Moon. Please. Or… Beau.”

“Well, in that case. Glimmer. I insist.”

“And I would be foolish to resist! I must say, no one has stumped Adam in such a way for many a year! I think perhaps once during a fencing match, but beyond that? Hardly ever.”

Glimmer laughed and sighed, “But truly, it was my own fault. He deserved an apology. And… was more humble in his receipt than I had credited him to be capable of.”

“Mr de Gray has… well, Adam has not always been  _ thus _ .”

Glimmer saw a shadow of melancholy ghost across Beauregard’s dark skin; a sadness eclipsed his eyes for a moment. She looped an arm through the crook in his own, “What happened? Money? Family?”

Mr Archer sighed and gave her a bittersweet smile, “That is not for me to say. Adam is a dear dear friend. One who has steered me through trying times of my own. And my family’s own. We all owe Adam a debt. A friendship hard won. I will say you will find no one more steadfast and loyal. But once that trust is broken it is lost forever. So, I will not break it.”

Glimmer nodded slowly, “I understand. We are but new acquaintances. And it is his place to tell me, should he ever wish to broach the subject,” she smiled, “He is lucky to have one so steadfast in you as well.”

“Mayhap. I just wish I could see a smile more often. It happened recently but I fear we cannot recapture it…” Beauregard trailed off and shrugged, “Apologies, you came to have tea and enjoyable company, not this melancholic prattle!”

Glimmer smiled and squeezed Mr Archer’s arm, “Your company is not melancholic. How can conversing on our thoughts, our own honest selves be a bad thing? The world is full of such superficiality and foolishness, it seems a waste.”

The pair paused and Mr Archer turned to regard her. He smiled and shook his head, “Truly, madame, you are a wit and a wonder. Such insight.”   


“Ah, I am a woman of whims and flights of fancy…” she shrugged and turned away.

“Are you in the habit of doing yourself such disservice? What would your sister say?” chided Mr Archer with a laugh. Glimmer rolled her eyes.

“She would smack me and then chase me through the rose garden no doubt.”

“If… if I may be so bold….” Mr Archer mused for a moment, “No, my apologies… it is a thoughtless and rude query.”   


Glimmer smirked and tilted her head, “You wish to understand how such a bevvy of ladies appear so different? You doubt the integrity of my mother? Her predilections?”

Mr Archer  _ blanched _ and sputtered. Glimmer folded her arms and pouted, then laughed. Beauregard lowered his head and shook it, “That was not at  _ all _ ….”

“Oh I know  _ that _ . No, it is a fair curiosity. Not exactly  _ proper _ . But I will offer it freely. I am of blood related to my parents. My sisters, and they  _ are _ my sisters… they were wards. Taken in from families who were unable to care for them or whom had… gone. My parents  _ care _ . They are full of love and would not compromise. They are  _ family _ .”   


They regarded one another and Beauregard smiled, “The more I learn, the more remarkable your family becomes, Ms Glimmer Moon. I hope, perhaps, one day, you will regard me with such fierceness,” he swallowed and his smile faltered, “Ah, that was… presumptuous.”

They had wandered beneath another tree and Glimmer giggled. Then she stepped forwards and took his hand, “I believe I may already be on that path… Mr Archer.”

They stared at one another until a sudden boom echoed across the sky and the heavens opened once more. Glimmer shrieked - her clothing was  _ not _ suitable for a torrential downpour - a dress and a shawl.

With a single movement, Mr Archer divested himself of his longcoat and hat, the former of which he draped over Glimmer’s small frame; the hat he almost rammed atop her head. With a grin he grasped her hand, “Are you up for a small jog?”

“But… it’s… you’ll be soaked!”

“What’s a little rain! Hardly going to catch a cold am I?”

Laughing, they sprinted through the grounds, towards the distant house.

Not an unpleasant way to spend an afternoon after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW I feel you all deserved some.
> 
> As you can PROBABLY tell - Glimmer is NOT Jane in terms of her manners. So we're going to see some rather blatant shifts in plot - I will be keeping the plot BEATS, so you can imagine I will be having to twist things.
> 
> And REVEREND COLLINS will be along shortly. Now.... who ELSE would likely propose to Catra I wonder.
> 
> As ever, feedback is always appreciated! And let me know if you spot any issues in the text!


	8. An unfortunate affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant and surprising invitation.
> 
> An entertaining evening.
> 
> And a scandal in the making.

“Catra! CATRA!”

The excitable voice of her father drew her eyes away from a particularly scintillating paragraph, but she could not help the fondness that crept onto her face as she glanced up at him. The man was a-flustered as he strode into the reading room, his smile nervy.

“You seem vexed, father. Too much tea?” she teased, her eyebrow arching carefully as she regarded him.

“Not enough! I have two letters,  _ two _ ! You sister stayed overnight with Mr Archer!”   


Catra sighed, “Yes father, I know. The messenger last night…”

“OVERNIGHT! Surely this is fortuitous! A promising sign. Your mother must be told!”

“She  _ knows, _ father,” Catra tried again but had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes in a most unladylike display of exasperation. Mr Moon paused for a moment and blinked.

“Your mother knows?”

“You were there when the messenger ARRIVED, father,” Catra blinked at him, “Were you unaware?”

Mr Moon stared at her, then adjusted his waistcoat. He glanced at the letters and sucked his teeth, then smoothed his goatee and nodded slowly, “I may…. Have some recollection. But I  _ may _ also have been particularly entranced by..”

“Your latest writing piece, father?” Catra smirked and shook her head, “We  _ know _ . How goes your endeavour?”

“ _ Wonderfully _ ! I feel I have reached an apex of engagement with the audience and will be dispatching the manuscript to Elberon within the next week!”

Catra nodded then gestured at the letters, “And the two missives today? Any particular reason you are after my particular attention?”

“Oh! Of course! Well… first, your Cousin, Reverend Collins, will be arriving….” That set Catra’s eyes to glaze in a mild panic, “And your sister has written to request your presence at Thaymor.”

And  _ that _ set Catra to frowning. Nay,  _ scowling _ , “Why am I requested?”

“Ah… it would appear Mr Archer has become ill with a head cold and she feels she cannot leave his side. She has requested that you attend and bring some minor items and keep her company…?” Micah winced and shrugged.

“And what of the ghoul, Mr de Gray?”

Mr Moon flicked the small piece of paper back and forth as he studied both sides, “Ah, no mention. But a chance to attend the house? And, well, your sister would likely appreciate the company. Especially if that dour fellow  _ is _ present.”

Catra flopped back in her chair, “What about…”   


“Would your rather  _ Mermista _ attend? Can you see that going well? Or what of Entrapta? After last month’s silo explosion, I fear letting her anywhere unsupervised. Or near a naked flame. And Frosta simply cannot go. No, this, I fear is a requirement for you, my dearest.”

Truly, the world was an unfair place, wrought with assignments, duty and pained obligation. She was but a simple heroine, who would save her sister from the tedium of manor-life.

“I suppose I better remember how to play  _ bridge _ or some rot,” grumbled Catra and Micah smiled.

“Indeed!”

“I know who’ll be the dummy in it at least,” with a huff, Catra stood and smoothed her red dress down, “Can you have the carriage deliver the cases once I’ve packed them? I feel a  _ walk _ will be necessary or else I am liable to be…  _ acerbic _ .”

A gentle chuckle came from the door as the willowy form of Mrs Moon paused at her husband’s shoulder, “Oh dear me. Catra attempting to avoid a battle of wits? You are vexed, dear. Micah, what have you requested our fiery little one subject herself to?”

“Not I, dear heart! Glimmer!”

Angella frowned and glanced at the letter, then pursed her lips, “Hum. She is besotted. A good sign, I hope. Provided Mr Archer is as true to his morals as we believe.”

Catra huffed as she closed her book and marked the page, “I am fond of the man, in spite of the company he keeps. However, I am ever at my sister’s service. And she will be  _ indebted _ for this, mark that.”

Mrs Moon smiled softly at Catra’s attempt at indignation, “Indeed. Please keep your mockery of her infatuation to levels that don’t rouse the local militia.”

\----------

Catra harrumphed as she trudged through the muddy fields. She knew that had she taken the carriage, her ire would have grown, and this way she was able to stamp out her minor frustrations; truthfully, seeing Glimmer was no hardship. But if Glimmer was cooing over a bed-bound Mr Archer, she would be left to make  _ small talk _ with whatever excuses for company resided in the Manor.

However, it was a pleasant day and the air was crisp.

She emerged from the wood-line and huffed 0- the last mile had been across a rather muddy field of grass-tufts and puddles. Her walking boots were saturated and her dress a mess of grime and grass. She smirked as she took it in, then lifted her scarlet bonnet. She slicked her hair back, then shrugged and strode onto the more stable path that led towards the manor.

The grounds were well kept and she found that it had a rather pleasant woodsy appearance - not overly manicured, not at least until you got closer to the house itself.

It was only as she stepped out from behind a willow that she found herself face to face with a familiar blonde figure.

“Oh! Ms Moon, good day. I… ah I had not expected to see you?” Mr de Gray was a strange shade of red about their cheeks and those blue eyes were widened in surprise. 

Catra lazily took in the long coat, cane and top hat - the man had clearly been for a stroll. She smiled thinly and gave a short curtsey, “Mr de Gray. Clearly Mr Archer does not keep you informed. My presence was requested. Should I have informed you.”   


Mr de Gray’s jaw appeared to tighten and Catra watched as the gentleman tapped the cane against the turf, “I see confrontation is a familial trait. And not at all, madam. This is not my abode, I merely remain here at the pleasure of my friend. I welcome you and will trouble you no further.”

Catra blinked as the gentleman offered her, of all things, a sad smile. Then Mr de Gray touched the brim of the top hat, then strode off towards the woods, away from the house. She watched the figure pause briefly, then saw a shake of the head, before the gentleman continued on their way.  She felt suddenly uncertain, but schooled herself and made for the main entrance. A maid met her at the door and indicated her belongings had been delivered. Catra noted with some small satisfaction that the maid appeared discomfited by her more muddy attire.

“I will present myself, then if I might trouble you for some appropriate area to change?” she prompted; the maid curtseyed and led her into the drawing room, where a pair of older gentlemen stood to greet her.

“Ah ha! Ms Moon… or rather,  _ another _ Ms Moon! Truly, you are in one another’s orbit!” the taller of the men japed. The other a more compact man with shorter hair, sighed and bowed.

“Please excuse my husband. He is… a man without limits. It is a pleasure to see you again, Ms Moon.”

Catra smiled and curtseyed, “I trust my sister has been in good health and you are not put out by her concern? Is Mr Archer well?”   


“Beauregard is a tough sport. Merely over exuberant and a little prone to dramatics,” the shorter man smiled, “Please, call me Lance. Otherwise the whole Mr Archer business will get confusing.”

“Likewise, George for me. Such formality is for the city. And frankly it’s stuffy there as well. As for Beau, well… I think he is also rather enjoying the  _ fussing _ .”

Lance swatted his husband, “Sounds like someone I know.”

“But you are so  _ good _ at it!”

The pair were charming and Catra found she was enjoying the little play-by-play. She winced as she brought about a more uncomfortable ask, “Is… Mr de Gray joining us?”

The pair shared a glance and Lance spoke up, “Mr de Gray tends to keep their own counsel. Adam will likely join us for tea later. I think Mr de Gray misses the moors at times - from the county where the Greyskull estate sits.”

“Far from home? Will Mr de Gray be spending much time here?”

George chuckled, “It depends on the business of the estate. Currently, this visit is to ensure our son is not… overextending himself. I believe Adam has a rather protective streak of late. I can’t say I blame them.”

Lance gave George a strange look, but the taller man shrugged. Catra frowned, “Protective? Forgive me, he seems… more abrupt.”

The two men shared a smile, “Mr de Gray has had an interesting time in society. The Greyskull estates are situated in a less than tolerant area, and is a little remote. Mr de Gray needs respite from that now and then. Anything else, it is not for us to really say.”

Catra nodded, “I can understand that. I still feel his attitude to be brusque and dismissive, but I understand I am speaking out of turn about a family friend. My apologies.”

The men shared another look and smiled, then gestured for her to sit, “Not at all. It is good to see such forthright behaviour in the next generation. Far too many with easy airs in the city at times; someone with an opinion and conviction? Well, it is  _ good _ . It is why we approve so much of your sister! Beauregard needs that sort of attitude. And it is wonderful to know she has such support closer to home as well.”

The conversation was charming and idle, until Catra excused herself to prepare for the eve. Atop the stairs she was met by an effervescent Glimmer who practically sparkled with glee.

“Is this house not  _ amazing _ ? And what did you think of Mr Archer’s parents? So nice? SO NICE!”

Catra studied her sister carefully, then presented a deadpan response, “Yes. So nice.”

“Come, COME! Your room is  _ here _ . Next to mine.”

“How is Mr Archer?”

“Um.. he is… convalescing. Yes. Convalescing. Very ill. Head cold. Rain,” Glimmer smiled, but it seemed to be edged with a blush. Catra arched an eyebrow.

“And how did he get wet enough to contract a cold in a single  _ day _ sister dear?” Catra folded her arms as soon as Glimmer closed the bedroom door behind her.

“Well. We were… taking in the grounds. Then he took off his jacket. And we ran and… we…  _ may _ have… endedupkissingoutsideforawhile.”

Catra rocked back on her heels, “WOA! Sparkling one! That is…. I am  _ shocked _ ,” she stepped to the bed and patted the space next to her, “Tell me  _ everything.” _

\----------------

The evening presented something of a challenge; dinner was pleasant, if a little bit surprising: Glimmer and Mr de Gray appeared to have a rather eager accord and Catra found herself confused and faintly distressed.

Mr de Gray was actually rather  _ amusing _ .

The gentleman described in very dry detail a particularly embarrassing moment regarding Beauregard, where the man had somehow removed his trousers via the incorrect use of a sabre, during a banquet.  Glimmer clasped her hands to her mouth, “Oh gracious! And then?”

“Well, the Contessa merely raised a glass and queried the age of the meat being served.”

George and Lance rocked in their chairs and laughed, with the taller of the fathers leaning forwards, “Poor Beauregard did a valiant recovery and managed to extricate himself. He returned in a kilt and merely told the room he would be taking up archery instead. And he told the contessa that the meat had been replaced with beets.”

“She took it in stride, but then she is the sort who prefers parties to go a little awry.”

Catra looked between them all as Mr de Gray took a slow sip of their wine. She frowned as the gentleman’s eyes fluttered -  _ Fluttered _ \- at the taste. Then she realised she was staring at Mr de Gray’s eyes. And they were staring  _ right back. _

“Ms Moon…. Do you have any anecdotes? I’m afraid mine are…. Paltry,” Mr de Gray winced slightly as they extended a tentative verbal olive branch.

“You mean they are at someone else's expense?”

Surprisingly, Adam leaned back and pursed their lips, “A fair assessment. Let me describe one involving me, then maybe you would share one with us? If you feel comfortable doing so, I mean?”

No challenge, just… caution. Oddly, this lack of challenge irritated Catra further. She arched an eyebrow, then saw Glimmer’s warning expression and deflated somewhat, then challenged: “Wax lyrical, please, Mr de Gray.”

“Ah, well. So, as you are aware, I am a rider. Suffice to say, this was not  _ always _ thus. In fact, there was a time that horses and I… did not get along. My first interaction with a horse… indeed, my first interaction with  _ Swiftwind _ was not… exactly easy.”

George practically giggled into his wine, “Tell them about the wagons….”

“And the farmers…”

Adam shot the pair an indulgent look. It was strange seeing such a fond expression on a face that had, prior to now, been predominantly set in a harsh demeanour. Adam supped at the wine and continued, “So. I had just purchased this fine and  _ noble _ beast. And, well… of course I knew  _ exactly _ what to do.”

“Adam did not,” drawled Lance. Adam waved a hand to shush the elder gentleman.

“Anyway, I set to saddling the beast. I believed him to be… trained. And he was. Just… not to me. So, I throw the saddle over having failed to both  _ secure _ the stable door  _ and _ rein the horse to a bar.”

Glimmer’s eyes widened and Catra couldn’t help the faint smirk on her face. The pink-hair sister gasped, “Oh no…”

“Oh yes. So, on goes the saddle and  _ off _ goes the horse. Just as I’ve finished tightening the belts, too. Of course, being a very professional rider, I held on. I managed to clamber atop the saddle, after the horse had escaped the stable and was set on his course down the main road of the estate. Of course, my second issue was then readily apparent - I lacked reins.”

Catra actually snorted, but covered it with a cough. Adam arched an eyebrow, but didn’t smile. Glimmer shook her head, “And?”

“Well, Swiftwind decided to take a tour of the town near my estate. Via a farm. He got stuck in a pen and I tried to get him to calm down. Whereupon he kicked open the pen and let loose a score of hogs. Which he promptly led to freedom. I’m there, clinging to his neck, wondering why no one thought to install some form of breaking mechanism on a horse, when the beast decides this is the opportune time to head into said town and knock over several carts in the market, along with leading aforementioned hogs into further exacerbate things.”

Catra stared at the gentleman. George and Lance were holding their sides.

“Then Swiftwind decided that he objected to the enslavement of several cart horses and kicked the wagon traces. This did not, of course, free them, but it  _ did _ send a large haycart into a tavern garden. A haycart filled with manure. Swiftwind  _ also _ decided that this was the opportune time to divest himself of  _ me _ . Into said haycart.”

Catra snorted and the wine went up her nose. She coughed as she laughed, “You… you were in the shit!”

Mr de Gray smiled. George and Lance paused and stared. Mr de Gray’s eyes were fixed on Catra as she sputtered and giggled a squeaky, rasping laugh. And the smile on the gentleman’s face was something they had not seen in many years.

Glimmer watched too, then looked at the two men and winked.

\-------------------

Dinner had been illuminating. Catra shared her own story - about how she apparently spiked a punch bowl at a ball one year  _ by accident _ with several large bottles of whisky. She had thought it was some sort of “fill the glass bowl game”.

“ _ I was EIGHT!” _ she had protested.

That evening, they all retired to the drawing room for a brief respite. Catra read and found that Mr de Gray was also enamoured with a book, which was splayed open on the small writing desk they were currently occupying. She managed to  _ not _ ask what it was.  Lance, however, approached and queried her on her choice. Glimmer interjected, “Catra is always ensconced with some form of book. Truly, she is a scholar in the making.”

Catra answered demurely that she was content with mere classics to pass the time and that she partook of  _ several _ activities, of which Glimmer was well aware. Her identity as a well rounded woman was well known. That merely elicited a smile from her sister.

“Ah! Well, such a shame that Thaymor’s library is so ill stocked currently, but Beauregard has more inclination to the physical arts rather than the literary,” lamented Lance, “Our own home is quite the extensive archive. Rivalled only by the collection at Greyskull, I believe?”

Mr de Gray glanced up and offered a polite nod, “The work of several generations. Knowledge has value, especially in these trying times. Give me a lever of sufficient length…”

“And I may move the world,” finished Catra with a small smile. She arched an eyebrow and then returned to her book. Glimmer took up the conversational baton.

“You are a collector, then, Mr de Gray?”   


“Hardly, Ms Moon. I feel it is merely prudent to ensure the preservation of things. My… sibling is fond of such things.”   


George coughed, “Indeed so. How is A...dora? These days? I trust well? The last we saw she was… well versed with the piano?”

The scratch of Mr de Gray’s pen halted and the gentleman regarded George for a moment. Catra saw the sudden shift in demeanour and found it curious.

“She continues well. Her situation is, of course, limited due to her status and bearing.”

“Ah,” interjected Lance, “But young ladies are all so talented and full of skill. Look at us - George here can catalogue a series of appendices but is quite useless with more robust tasks. I am capable with a rapier, but frankly, am bamboozled by the inner workings of a kitchen! Or anything of skill, really.”   


That, for some reason seemed to irk Mr de Gray further. Glimmer chuffed, “Beauregard is skilled with menial things! And a woman is not limited by tasks within a household, may I remark”

“Precisely! It sets him apart from his peers; and we oft neglect the skills of our feminine colleagues, who are likewise accomplished," George smiled at Glimmer, an open and honest expression.

Mr de Gray tapped the pen against the table, “I wonder at that.”

There was a bitterness to the statement that drew Catra’s eyebrows up, “You feel that women are not capable?”

Mr de Gray turned a pain expression upon Catra, “I feel that women are not in a position to present such capability. Truly, I know of few women who have advanced or deserve the term  _ accomplished _ . I hazard know but a dozen.”

Glimmer once more stepped in, “A woman, and really, anyone of bearing, should understand the arts - dancing, music, writing. Intellect is important, as is the desire to improve upon it. But also a need to be forthright,” here she smiled at George and Lance who returned the expression tenfold. She turned to Catra, “ She must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved. Something I think  _ we _ master, would you not concur, Catra?”

“Indeed I must, sister. I am interested to understand Mr de Gray’s position, however."

“Just that a woman should read extensively, to improve her limited lot and advance over her natural and social restrictions. All those things that Ms Moon has expressed, she must possess, to then add things more substantial. And yet it is still often not enough.”

At this, Catra bristled somewhat, but was stalled somewhat by the sadness in those blue eyes, “I am surprised to hear you claim a dozen in your awareness, with such a mark to achieve, I would imagine you barely count  _ one _ woman in that vaunted field.”

She closed her book and tilted her chin. Mr de Gray watched her for a moment longer and then smiled, “I have offended you. Please, do excuse me. I am… tired and though I speak from bitter experience, I see I am a burden upon these proceedings. Ms Moon, I will check in upon Mr Archer. I shall see you all upon the morrow.”

Catra watched as the man stood, then took his leave after a polite bow. She turned to find Glimmer’s disapproving gaze fixed upon her, “Catra that was an uncalled for slight.”

“Glimmer, the man denigrated our ability to achieve and aspire! You may find such charming peccadillos as were put forth over dinner enough to mask such things, but I feel it is… condescending.”

George sighed across the room and sat up from his arm chair, “I fear you may have misunderstood Mr de Gray’s perspective. A singular circumstance of misfortune relating to… well, it is a painful topic that is not ours to broach. Suffice to say, there is a rationale and reason for Adam’s words. But not the motive I fear you attribute to them, Ms Moon.”

Their chatter returned to more relaxed topics but shortly Glimmer also decided to retire, which spurred Catra to likewise retreat. After thanking the Messers Archer and Archer for their company and erudition, the women withdrew. Glimmer paused but a moment to check in on Beauregard, in spite of Mr de Gray’s assurances. She did so with a muttered commentary of  _ needing to be sure _ .

In the quiet of Catra’s room they prepared for bed and Catra huffed whilst Glimmer sent a particularly irritable frown towards her errant sister.

“What prompted all that?”

“Mr de Gray is a man clearly with opinions that are base and objectifying to the manner of womanhood.”

Glimmer made a gesture that conveyed her thoughts on the matter very eloquently, “Balderdash. You are confused by your errant engagement with Mr de Gray’s particular charm.”

“And that is all it is: charm. There is no foundation upon which to build a proper accord.”

“Did you even try? You merely took offence at a throwaway comment; one, I might add, did not seem all that malicious.”

“Glimmer, sister dear. I love you most of our rambunctious lot, but sometimes you are far too  _ trusting _ . Mr Archer appears a fine fellow, but Mr de Gray is a man cast in shadows and grimness. A singular story, no matter how humours the anecdote, does not a good friend make.”

“Have many good friends to measure against, sister dear?” teased Glimmer, which elicited a snort of a laugh from the brunette.

“Get the hence to your own room, you besotted vixen. Consider, perhaps your doting upon Mr Archer will garner a promising result for your fortunes and prevent the bemoaning of father at the impending calamities of the world.”

“You know he could happen upon a chest of Guineas and make a drama of it,” Glimmer chided gently, “Much as I love the man, he has an air of a dazed rabbit on occasion.”

“Another good reason for Mother, then!”

“You say that only because you do not partake in conversations of a rigorous and fraught nature with the woman.”

“Well, if you will insist on  _ disagreeing _ with her  _ GLIMMAH!” _ Catra could not help the mirth on her lips. Glimmer swatted at her.

“Do not  _ do that _ ! It makes my skin shudder so - she has me in a tizzy with my own name!”

“Alright, be off. Some of us require  _ sleep _ and are not fuelled by rampant attraction and literary lust.”

With a smile and a dramatic flutter of eyelashes, Glimmer departed, leaving Catra to her contemplation as she blew out her candle. The house was warm, welcome, even in the dark of night and, full of food, wine and the memory of good company, she began to drift.  As she slowly slipped towards rest, words clicked like knitting needles and Catra frowned, sullen for the merest moment. Her mind approached the statement of Mr de Gray from another angle: to view the words not as condescension and patronising, but rather as frustration and resignation.

A strange perspective for a man of means and wealth. Many would not hold forth on such a view, save as a fair point of flattery. Now, upon reflection, the gentleman had not appeared relaxed in his posture, nor dry in his delivery. This was most puzzling.

The sound of footsteps stirred Catra as she rested on the edge of sleep. She sat up and spoke, “Glimmer?”

The footsteps paused and a voice spoke up: nervous, uncertain, but tremulous and feminine, muffled by the door, “Um, well…  _ no _ ma’am. Sorry for waking you. Just… putting out the candles.”

A serving girl then. But the voice stirred a memory which, in Catra's soporific state, felt familiar: the cadence, certainly, but  _ more _ womanly. It was like a lucid dream where one could imagine changing oneself as easily as changing clothes, or changing the appearance of another, or their sound, “Oh, oh, of course.”   


“Sorry for um… disturbing you, Catra… I mean Ms Moon.”

The voice sounded so nervous, it made Catra smile. She was not one for dalliances - they were a trivial and bothersome thing, but she wondered what the voice looked like suddenly. It reminded her of the flattery of the ball - a voice unseen. Spoiled by the vision of  _ masculinity _ that lay behind it.  Her brow wrinkled further upon the contemplation of this comparative experience and she found herself suddenly out of bed, and grasping for a shawl from the linen box at the end of the four poster bed. The footsteps had retreated and Catra fumbled for the door handle as she attempted to be less-than-overt.

She peered into the hall and saw the light of a candle vanish around a corner. She noted that the wicks of several candelabra were cool and not smoking - long since extinguished. Most curious.

Catra crept along the hallway, past her sister's room, where the faint drone of her distant nightly-susurration could be heard. Carefully, she inclined herself to peer around the corner.

A figure stood at the door to Mr Archer’s room -  _ Beauregard’s _ room. Catra saw the silhouette of a feminine body - tall, wearing a white nightgown. She could make out the defined shape of athletic arms that protruded from the short-sleeves and the ankles indicated a solid but not portly build. It seemed a strange stature for a chambermaid. She knew farmers wives would be capable of manhandling livestock and their broods of children, but again they trended towards a bulkier set. This was a womanly form of a classical sort. Catra found herself strangely entranced. Her mind, still fighting the edges of sleep in spite of the sudden rousing jolt of curiosity, seemed to find the form familiar; coupled with the words and the cadence of the voice.

The door to Mr Beauregard’s room opened and Catra expected the maid to hand the candle over, or perhaps to receive a chamberpot or tray.

She did not expect the woman to dip her head, nor to observe the look of concern upon Mr Archer’s face in the candlelight. And she most certainly did not expect to see the  _ embrace. _ The maid stepped into the room and Catra caught a flash of blonde hair underneath a shawl pulled high over her head. Mr Archer smiled as he led the woman inside, then glanced about the corridor, before closing the door. Catra heard the lock.

She was now roused. And incensed.

Her thoughts doubled back on Mr de Gray - perhaps his words  _ had _ been an insult, couched in mock outrage! And Mr Archer! A cad! A bounder! A man who it seemed was reflected by his choice of companion. An accurate match for the condescending, objectifying tone of _Mr de Gray_ , as Mr Archer appeared to be a gentleman of low morals and high charm.

And Glimmer, entrapped by his whiles!

But now was not the time for rash action, unbecoming of a woman of her bearing. No, this would require careful handling to preserve the honour of her sister and their family. It would have to wait until the morrow and then she would pay a second call upon Mr Archer. No one, but no one, would besmirch her sister's reputation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, that BOUNDER! That CAD!
> 
> Of course, Bow must be the bad guy here, of course! He MUST BE, can't see any reason for a blonde to go to his room... after a stressful evening. Staring at a woman.
> 
> None at all.
> 
> And of course Catra is going to have a fair, balance and rational response to all of this.


	9. A lady of the cloth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra and Glimmer take their leave.
> 
> A visitor makes a proposition.
> 
> Catra has much to consider.

Breakfast was a cordial affair, at least from the enthused perspective of the Senior Archer pairing. Glimmer was entranced by the fine selection of pastries, meats and multitudinous egg offerings.

“Sister, they have scrambled, poached  _ and _ fried offering.”

“Yes, sister dear. I can see. I am sat, currently,  _ right next to you _ and thus can purvey the same.”

“OH! Salmon also? Truly this is a most generous spread for a mere breaking of the fast!”

Lance chuckled across the table, “Hardly! This is, arguably, the most important meal of the day - it establishes you, sets your course for the remainder. Your mind becomes focused and full of energy! Well, it is so for us at any rate!” he smiled broadly and nudged his husband, who was idly buttering a slice of toast. The shorter man glanced up and smiled.

“Quite.”

Catra managed a smile that didn’t feel quite so brittle. How two such honest, kind and apparently forthright gentlemen could have produced a cad such as  _ Beauregard _ she could not fathom. Perhaps he was merely a bad sort among a plethora of decency; his siblings were likely cut from the better part of the cloth? She turned to her sister.

“Glimmer, did you look in on Mr Archer? Will he not join us as a good host?”

The question drew a faint blush and an admonishing smile to Glimmer’s face, “I knocked, but he said he was still ill. I asked one of the servants to take a tray. He should not strain himself, but I will call upon his room before we leave, to ensure he is on the mend.”

“Which servant?” the question fled from Catra’s mouth before she could marshal her emotions. Glimmer blinked in surprise and Catra managed to rally her erstwhile reactions, “I mean, to ensure it has been delivered.”

Truth told, she had been trying to spot the sneaky creature she’d espied the night prior. But none of the servants appeared to have the broad physique nor blonde hair she’d followed through the mansion. She hadn’t seen Mr de Gray either, but the gentleman was furthest from her thoughts at present. Or had been. Certainly was not a persistent presence in the back of her mind.

Mostly because she felt vindicated in her opinion of the man - for clearly, Mr Archer was also of poor manners and thus she had been correct to assume Mr de Gray was a blaggard also. If Mr Archer had been a good man, then her assessment of Mr de Gray would have been strange, anomalous. But with this revelation of his tawdry approach, it made sense that he should associate with so brash a gentleman.

Glimmer huffed and arched an eyebrow, “So concerned for his well-being, should I find myself with a rival now, Catra?”

The tone was ribbing, the smirk upon Glimmer’s face a gentle tease. Catra rolled her eyes, but felt irked and appalled at the same time. Her knowledge of the truth warred with her desire for propriety. To damn the man in front of his family would be scandalous and mortally embarrassing for her sister. Preservation of Glimmer’s pride and honour was paramount, “Hardly. I merely worry for you fawning so seriously that we fail to make it home! It would be a disservice.”

The conversation remained light until the sound of boots in the hall echoed through the open door. Mr de Gray entered and Catra found herself surprised. The man appeared wan, blue eyes dim and drawn with bags beneath them. He glanced about the room and managed a tight smile, “My apologies, all. I am called away on urgent business. Ladies, it was a pleasure and… I hope we might reconvene at some future date. Your dialogue, company and engaging wit were… appreciated.”

Catra managed a small smile, but it felt difficult. She also felt a twinge of concern on her part for the gentleman, “Sir, you appear pale. Are you afflicted as Mr Archer?”

He appraised her and shook his head, “No madame. I assure you this is no ill tempering of my humours or such. This is… a personal matter of some dreary note that should not concern such carefree souls such as yourselves.”

The words felt sincere, but Catra still stung at the implication, “I am no frivolous being, sir,” she bristled. Mr de Gray closed his eyes and swallowed.

“Indeed not madame. Again, my tongue appears dull and ill suited to our normal exchanges, for which I am deeply sorry. Do excuse me and I pray you have a most pleasant day. I am sure Beauregard will appreciate such company when he is recovered and not so whimperingly convalescing.”

There was the ghost of a smile on Mr de Gray’s face - a faint fondness and Catra once more felt herself conflicted - was Mr de Gray aware of Mr Archer’s dalliances? Did he support them? If so, he was a worse bounder by far! And if not, then what  _ was _ he? A fool? A socially inept buffoon? An oblivious blonde idiot?  The man plucked the hat from under his arm, then bowed to the table. George and Lance offered their best wishes and Glimmer gave Mr de Gray a warm smile and a request that he  _ travel safely _ . And with that, the gentleman was gone.

It was puzzling that Catra felt irritated by the man’s absence. Perhaps he could answer these pressing queries as to the honour of Mr Archer.

Breakfast completed shortly thereafter and the two ladies made their way to the drive, where their carriage awaited. They turned to regard the mansion’s frontage and waved at Mr and Mr Archer who stood at the entrance, then boarded the carriage. Glimmer huffed, “I am saddened that Beauregard is still unwell. Perhaps I should have… called upon him more ardently?”

Catra didn’t meet her sister’s gaze and merely offered a shrug, “Perhaps. Maybe a good shock is what the man requires. We shall see…”

She had not espied the blonde servant, which likely meant that she was still ensconced in the blaggard’s bedchamber. The sheer nerve and affrontery of it! Perhaps  _ that _ was the reason for Mr de Gray’s shocked demeanour? Perhaps he was unaware of Mr Archer’s underhand and lascivious dealings and had quit the house, without wishing to embarrass the family and the women?

For some reason, that interpretation warmed Catra; she found it harder to fault Mr de Gray, even if her original thoughts justified her treatment of him via the apparent actions of Mr Archer - two cads, flocking together. And yet, she found it hard to maintain the image of Mr de Gray as a  _ cruel _ man. He struck her as lonesome, distant. Rude, yes, but not cruel.

The concept that he might be appalled at Mr Archer’s behaviour seemed  _ right _ ; for on analysis, the gentleman’s commentary on women seemed to shift and became a lament on the station of womanhood; the restrictions and uncertain expectations; and, yes, their limitations as defined by many in society and the pathways available.

She pondered this as the carriage trundled away. Her gaze took in the frontage of Thaymor Manor and, as Glimmer chattered excitedly about the future, she pondered the steps she would have to take to ensure her sister’s security.

* * *

It was not mama or papa who met them at the door, but rather Mermista. Their sister had the look of one who had been through a trial- her gaze distant and her demeanour flat. Catra descended the steps of the carriage, then assisted Glimmer down, whilst the footmen unloaded their meager cases, “Mer, whatever is the matter? You look like one of your books fell on you,” chortled Catra.

Glimmer peered at their taller sister and frowned, “Did that Lieutenant Hawk call? Did he set aflame a candelabra or something?”

Mermista shook her head and shuddered, “I… we have  _ company _ . I managed to get away. I think we need to save Mama.”

Catra and Glimmer exchanged a nervous glance, “Who has come to call…?”

“DEAREST CAT-OF-THE-WILDS!” The voice was rich, enthusiastic and  _ loud _ . A figure stepped from within the entrance to Brightmoon House, clad in a black clergy robe. Short cropped platinum hair and a figure that looked like the individual herded cattle  _ personally _ , rather than shepherding a more human flock.

Catra paled and Glimmer tried to hide behind her, but to no avail. The towering figure swept Catra up into a bone-crushing hug, entirely without care for propriety. Glimmer exhaled in relief, but happy eyes locked onto her and the pink-haired lady was suddenly yanked in as well.

“It is good to see you have… welcomed my daughter’s home, Reverend. Perhaps a moment so they may respond appropriately?” came the soft and mildly perturbed voice of Mrs Moon from the doorway.

“Oh of course! How forward of me! And our engagement not even properly organised or established!”

The Reverend stepped back, showing herself to be a woman of statuesque proportions and an effervescent personality. She smiled broadly and clapped her hands happily in front of her. Catra blinked at her but managed a smile. The Reverend was a cousin of the family, via some entangled root and branch of the tree; she now served a community parish somewhere in the north. She was about to greet her, when an aspect of the Reverend’s statement clicked into place, “Wait… engagement?”

The broad woman beamed, “Quite so! Well, I heard that Aunt Angella was in quite the pickle with Glimmer coming up for presentation and the fears of inheritance and losing the home from the family line. And, well, my patron, Lady Shadow d’Weaver, she has always advised that a pairing must be  _ established _ . And she is a very well to do woman, a lady of means. Of course she holds with tradition in many respects, but I believe that, with the locale of the parish under my purview, a bond between two eligible ladies could be countenanced, especially given my position within the Clergy! All covered at Theological Orientation, of course!”

Catra looked at Glimmer and smirked,”Congratulations Glim,” the comment drawing a shocked sputter from the paralysed young woman. The Reverend laughed breezily.

“Well, now, I have unfortunately been disabused by Uncle Micah! I am to understand the dear Glimmer is likely to be expecting a caller with joyous news? And a viable offer?” the large woman grinned with genuine excitement, then looked at Catra, “Truth told, much as I adore Glimmer, I was heartbroken it was not  _ you _ , dear cousin, who I should approach. HOWEVER, with this exciting development, this now opens up the possibility of our uniting our families and cementing the future! Happy! Together! Just like when we were children! Although, not  _ quite _ like that of course. More grown up. Of course that means we must discuss where we shall live, what with my Parish duties and, well...” the big woman rambled, her thoughts clearly getting lost in the details, but her face was lit with happiness.

For her part, Catra’s vision tunneled and she blinked in surprise. It was Glimmer’s turn to nudge her. The shorter girl chuckled, “Congratulations  _ Cat _ .”

That jolted the brunette who held up her hands to forestall the Reverend, “Rev…  _ Scorpia _ . Can… can we get inside? This is… all out of order. Propositioning me on the gravel outside my home, when I am dusty from the road?”

“Oh! Gosh! Yes!” lamented Scorpia, suddenly embarrassed, “I was just so excited and, well, I know it’s sudden and I was  _ just _ discussing it with Angella and Micah, but they hadn’t said yes. Oh goodness, I am rather getting ahead of myself. I, oh.. Tea! Tea, yes. Angella? Is there tea?”

The tall Matriarch of the Moon family sighed theatrically in the door, then beckoned all to step inside, “I believe so, dear. Do follow us to the drawing room.”

* * *

It was excruciating. Absolutely agonising. Reverend Scorpia Collins had a  _ plan _ and a presentation. She had a folder of notes and an enthusiastic determination to ensure all her proposals were laid out. Literally.

She had a backup one for Mermista as well; even a tentative one for Entrapta!

Which, to be honest, even though Catra had honestly considered it, still was somewhat irksome.

She sat, hands in her lap, as the good Reverend espoused the benefits of a union: the maintenance of the estates within the family, for example; the continuity of ownership; her own connections to one Lady Shadow d’Weaver, a most  _ generous _ patron. Well, not generous, but certainly attentive. Well, maybe not  _ attentive _ but active. After a fashion. Certainly vocal. Maybe judgmental.

Scorpia appeared to have lost her particular train of thought after that digression but Micah, begrudgingly, pulled her back into focus, “So, you wish for our Catra to be… beholden to you?”

“Ah! Well! I have always held her in the highest esteem! We write, regularly!”

Truthfully, Scorpia did write regularly. Catra made a point of only replying to one in every ten letters, lest she  _ encourage _ things - apparently that had still displayed an _enthusiasm_ on her part, regardless. Give the woman an inch and truly she would annex the next county. She sighed and shot a pleading glance to her parents. Angella hid a smile behind her teacup and Micah bit his lip to suppress a grin.

She would have to deliver the first parry herself then, “Dearest Scorpia...”

“Yes, my cat-of-the-wilds,” Scorpia’s smile was open, honest and kind. This felt rather like kicking a small, defenceless animal. For the barest moment, framed by the window, Catra’s mind saw another blonde head, hair shorn short, their masculine features still somewhat bordering on feminine. Why, put Scorpia in trousers and she possibly could pass, at a distance, as a rather  _ masculine _ figure! Like Mr de Gray could perhaps pass for feminine when one did not see his face! She smiled briefly at _that_ awkward memory. If only the voice and countenance had matched!

The thought amused her and, strangely, saddened her - Mr de Gray and Scorpia were worlds apart! Something in her mind jostled for her attention - a nagging thought, but she dismissed it to focus upon the present. At least Scorpia  _ was _ a woman! Surely this was what she had wanted?

Except it felt  _ wrong _ . It felt a compromise. And she knew she would not be able to countenance such a union.

“Reverend, I must… consider this. You cannot simply deposit such an announcement and expect me to simply capitulate! I must consider, deliberate, engage with my parents on the… engagement.”

“Ahh! That’s my cat-of-the-wilds. So perceptive. Perspicacious! A font of knowledge and negotiation! Truly, should you accept, which I am sure you can envision the benefits of doing so, we will be a force!” Scorpia beamed and clapped her hands, then stood, “I must away to my chambers! I was on the road a fair bit today before my arrival and, even though the carriage granted by Lady Shadow d’Weaver was comfort itself, I was most tuckered out! Do excuse me!”

And with that, she departed. The other sisters, who were sat on a settee at the side of the room, gawked at Catra, like some chorus. She scowled at them, “What?”

“Like, I trust that’s a solid  _ no _ ?”

Glimmer glanced at Mermista then chuckled, “Well, if she decides she has a fondness for the more masculine traits, then she could cry of Mr de Gray as a reason to refuse? But she is stubborn!”

“My proclivities and heart are not  _ choice _ sister - I am beholden to what and who I am!” scolded Catra. Glimmer looked suitably chagrined and nodded. Frosta glanced up and shrugged.

“At least you’re getting offers. Though the Reverend is… intense.”

Micah chuckled, “I know, right? Oh… sorry dear,” he shrunk slightly as Angella shot him a rather pained look, then turned to her daughter.

“And what are your thoughts on the matter my dear?”

“I… I don’t wish to let the family down; we do need to secure advantageous links and… well, we have no guarantee that Mr Archer will follow through!” her gut twisted at the thought and she pondered whether accepting the engagement might be best - to allow some security for the family. But her mind rebelled against the thought of compromise.

“Darling…?” Angella frowned, then turned to address the other girls, “If you would be so kind as to amuse yourselves  _ elsewhere _ .”

The other women huffed and Mermista rolled her eyes, “But  _ mom _ this is, like, the most interesting to happen to Catra  _ ever _ so…”

“Out!” scolded Angella and the quartet of women scuttled away, with only Glimmer pausing at the door to offer a sympathetic wince to Catra.

The brunette sagged in her chair and grimaced but when she looked up at her parents she saw only sympathy and tenderness, “What,” she coughed, “What do I do? What do you… need of me? I don't. I am torn, I am so so so confused.”

Angella tilted her head, “This is quite unlike you dear.”

“Let’s just say I’ve… had a reality adjustment as to circumstances and our position within them. If Glimmer does not…” her stomach twisted with knowledge that she could not, for the sake of  _ honour _ and propriety divulge. She inhaled, “If Glim cannot wed, or if circumstances change, then the family’s success rides on me.”

Her mother’s frown deepened, “To do so would compromise you very being, Catra…” she murmured. Micah watched his daughter, quiet and thoughtful. That alone was abnormal!

Catra sighed, her initial reaction tempered by an unfamiliar lump in her chest, a strange sense of obligation, “I know! And the thought fills me with dread. And yet... perhaps it would not compromise  _ everything _ . Scorpia is a decent enough woman, I suppose. And she is a woman, after all. I could take up bridge?”

Her parents regarded her in silence. Then Micah rocked back and guffawed. Angella covered her mouth and looked away. Catra huffed and glared at them as Micah fanned himself with his newspaper, “B...BRIDGE! Bridge she says! Maybe you shall also partake in embroidery? Take high tea and share the finest gossip of Lady Shadow d’Weaver?”

Catra snarled, “Why are you mocking me? I… I could not forgive myself if my inaction lead to the destitution of the family. I would not be able to bring myself to… to see you for the shame of it.”

Angella hummed with amusement and leaned forwards to rest a hand atop Catra’s knee, “And we would not choose to see you if you  _ did _ accept,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Catra tilted her head and swallowed, her heart suddenly tight with affection as her mother gazed kindly at her.

Mr Moon sat up and planted his hands on his knees, “Dearest, tempestuous, firebrand. One thing we all learn in life is compromise. Sometimes it is necessary - to avoid dispute, to find harmony. But  _ never _ to one’s detriment, if at all possible. For to compromise oneself leads to many more steps in that direction and an ultimate reduction of the whole. You take the  _ easy _ path? What next? And whilst you could grow to care for, beyond your already cordial attachment to the Reverend, would you deny yourself an opportunity to learn more of yourself?”   


Catra flinched and cast about the room, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. The emotions of acceptance warred with a strange new sense of duty. A sense that drew a strange recollection of blue eyes that seemed to  _ see _ her in a way she had never known. Her heart and head warred but over what she knew not, “You see accepting the engagement as the _easy_ option?" Angella and Micah nodded, "But… but I could learn happiness? Many do! The entire of society is  _ based _ around such arrangements!”

Angella and Micah exchanged another glance, then stood and gathered Catra up in an embrace. Mrs Moon squeezed her daughter’s shoulder, “If you truly wish to choose this path, we will support you. But think on it, dearest. Think  _ hard _ . We are not destitute - we live in an enlightened county, with inheritance and law on our side. Yes, a marriage would secure futures, but property? Women may own without the purview of a husband. Or even a wife of a senior station!”

Catra snorted at Angella’s slightly arch tone, the gentle wryness of her mother’s voice calmed her and she exhaled, “I suddenly find myself… surprised. Ambushed, even. Maybe that is why I am suddenly so conflicted.”   


“Indeed, we had not expected so forthright a declaration from the Reverend. But then again, Scorpia has always been an outspoken sort. You could do worse, but truly could you spend a lifetime with her? Love her? See her for who she is? If so… get to know her first, my dearest. Do as Glimmer has with Mr Archer.”

The words lanced into her, but she found a bitter truth to them - if only Glimmer knew the truth; and yet to do so would break her. Far better for Mr Archer to be convinced of alternative options and to do the decent thing. Of this she was sure.  But as for Scorpia - perhaps time to know the woman would prove informative. She might be a decent option - she was a woman, after all, which fell in line with Catra’s aspirations along one particular track at least. And she knew that, even with the confused intent of one Mr de Gray.

She sighed and nodded, “I will… ponder the matter. And not rush in. To be honest my reaction is... no.”

Mrs Moon gave her a fond smile, “Very good. I understand there is another ball to be held at the Casta’s this week. I have it on good authority that Mr Archer will be there, along with several of the Regiment! A good opportunity to dance, to see the Reverend in a more social setting away from the domestics here. Take these days to… meet with her, understand her. Then you will be informed.”

Micah squeezed her shoulder, “And, whilst I am sure she will be an insufferable in law should you decide to leap feet first into that challenge, we will love and support you whatever your choice!” Angella shot him a glare and he met it with a smile, “I am merely vocalising your own internal ranting, my love. Dare you deny it?”

Mrs Moon sighed, “I dare not, love of mine. As ever, your perceptive eye is a blessing and a curse. I do wonder how I put up with such an insufferable man!” her smile was gentle, to take the sting from the words.

“See, Catra dear, this is what awaits you - consider you patience and your tolerance for vexatious teasing! How well does your wit exchange, how ready is your tongue…” Angella actually blushed for a moment and Micah coughed, then rallied, “to deliver fine points meant in kindness but with enough cut to challenge and invigorate!”

Catra laughed and sat back down, her parents following suit, “Surely it is more than just conversation?”

“It is, my dear,” admonished Angella, “For any love, you must partake of each other’s presence, their beliefs, their very bearing. A house may allow you solace should some aspects of their being be intolerable, so you must school yourself to that. It will never be plain sailing at all hours of the day. You must find solace where you can.”

As her gaze moved between them, the Moons shared yet another smiling glance. Catra frowned, “But you are barely apart.”

Micah chuckled, “Indeed not. For we are lucky that we do find solace in each other. However, we still mark our own time - that is key, vital even. To become dependent on another is a dangerous thing; for you risk losing yourself and that irony can cripple an attachment. Slavish devotion is  _ not _ love. To a person, to an idea, to  _ anything _ . This is something you have always expressed - that challenge, that fire. So, for us, please do not extinguish it. Nurture that flame, for it will draw others to you. And it will consume those unworthy. But someone will come who can feed that fire, and not be burned by it.”   


Angella regarded her husband and arched an eyebrow, “Wisdom does spill forth occasionally from my nerve-wracked love. Enthused as he is, he does counsel you well. Scorpia is a woman of enthusiasm, but… is she a moth? I feel her temperament and yours are not well matched, but it is for _you_ to decide. For you, not for some sense of duty to us.”

Catra nodded, then stood, “Thank you,” she swallowed and blinked away tears, then practically fell onto her mother, embracing her tightly. She straightened then smoothed her dress. Her father stood and opened his arms and she collapsed into them again, “Thank you.”

With a breath, she turned and pushed open the door. She heard a thud and smirked as she found a pile of ladies on the other side. Mermista groaned under Frosta and Entrapta, whilst Glimmer lurked to one side of the door. Catra flashed her sisters a roguish grin, “Well now, gossip mongers the lot of you.”

“What did they say?” hissed Glimmer, “We only heard murmurs!”

“That is for me to know, my Sparkly haired sibling, and for you to ponder upon ‘til judgement day!” Catra smirked, then gestured to the sprawled siblings, “So… a wander to the village? I feel the need for air.”

She chuckled and darted towards the door - the chance to clear her head of cobwebs and the strange and unfamiliar melancholy that had threatened her with the weight of expectation. Her heart and mind said _no_ to the very concept of Reverend Scorpia Collins beyond a polite acquaintance. But the fear at Glimmer's likely abandonment and the pressure that would be foisted on the family pushed her mind towards something greater - if she could spare her siblings the fear? The shame? Was a compromise not better? Her heart could wither and die, after all, denied a partner. She saw the folly, in a way, of Glimmer's approach - to wish for love and be entranced by charm.

Perhaps love was just a fools game after all. Pragmatism and the hardening of oneself? Perhaps that was the safest recourse. Her parents had advised she consider; without pressure. And yet it was pressure of her own making that haunted her. They talked of love, of desire and consuming flames; but also that compromise was necessary? Truly, she could envision a life with Scorpia. After a fashion. In a manner of speaking. If one squinted at the future. She would likely have to partake in long walks. Maybe visit family. Alone. A lot.

But it could be worth it?

If only she could cease the invasive thoughts of intense blue eyes. If. Only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, some marked differences! For once, the Bennetts are in accord! And Catra is confused. Crimson with embarrassment, would such an Engagement be a Waste...
> 
> (Yeah parallels to Scorptra kiss here! Or getting there... teasing the POSSIBILITY) but i wonder who Scorpia could POSSIBLY meet at the ball held by Casta...
> 
> And the Regiment? Wonder who else could be turning up. 
> 
> So - did I get the slow hardening of Catra right as the weight of it all begins to bear down? Will she meet some entertaining sorts at this ball who might engage her in gossip and shared stories? 
> 
> I'm trying to show a slight difference to Lizzie in that she IS now willing to compromise a little - a slight twist on the Collins issue, buuuut I think an interesting twist (To capture elements of Catra's in-show slide into colder pragmatism... more of which we shall see NEXT chapter as she speaks to a certain Beauregard)
> 
> AS ever - feedback GREATLY appreciated. This chapter I like, but it could be trimmed, perhaps? Let me know what you think, if you liked the Moon's and their encouragement and attempts at advice that, maybe, haven't gone across as they'd hoped!


	10. A Promenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra contemplates a revelation.
> 
> Scorpia makes her intentions known.
> 
> Mr De Gray wrestles with reality.

The days preceding the upcoming ball were fraught. For Catra at least. The rest of the Moon contingent were content to promenade about the village or take tea with the rather earnest reverend. Truly, she was not a bad sort, but she had the most awkward habit of taking an interest; and not a polite one to engender conversation. No, rather her interest led to near monologues of recollections that left the company rather glassy eyed with the sheer amount of knowledge deposited within the conversation.

Of the cohort, only Entrapta seemed to be unaffected, capable of engaging the Reverend on equal footing, despite the fact that their conversations appeared to be, in actuality, twin monologues, delivered in parallel.

And yet that worked.

So, whilst the enthusiastic Reverend and the sharp-minded sister continued their badminton conversation, the remainder of the Moon family were able to entertain themselves with other distractions.

Catra had withdrawn to the rose garden of the house, to contemplate her limited options, alongside the wider ramifications of any potential action. Truly, her options were not pleasant and she was, currently, uncertain as to how to proceed. Glimmer had noticed her melancholy, but had attributed it to the impending potential nuptial proposition by the good Reverend.

Her reverie was disturbed by an enthusiastic greeting - evidently Entrapta had wandered off and left the Reverend unsupervised.

“Ah! My dearest cat-of-the-wilds!”

Catra schooled her face into a pleasant smile, only slightly strained at the edges. She turned, framed by two waist high ornamental hedges and waved, “Ah, Reverend.”   
  


“Pish posh! Scorpia to you, you know that!” The Reverend drew level and nudged Catra’s shoulder, “Or should I be referring to you as  _ Ms Moon _ , oh wife-to-be?”

Catra blinked at the forwardness, “That is… presumptuous, is it not?”

Reverend Scorpia waved a hand and chuckled, “Well, as my patron, Lady Shadow d’Weaver is want to say,  _ no victory without commitment! _ And, well, she may have some edges, but that lady well, she knows her history, boy does she! And, well, I am not one to brag, but I do like to commit to things in earnest and follow through! I mean, honestly, Cat? I’ve always held a bit of a candle, y’know? Since we were running around the fields hereabouts, when you came to the family?”

The memory made Catra smile - Scorpia had been a tomboy and a half. She had vague recollections of Scorpia’s mother, a shorter, blonde thing; and her apparent governess. That woman had been  _ tall _ , with black hair and a soft smile.

“Ahhh, halcyon days. Your governess was quite imposing! Almost as much as Angella. I was so intimidated by Angella, another tall woman was… too much!”

The Reverend furrowed her brow, “Governess?”

“Your memory all there, dear Reverend?” Catra smirked, “The tall woman? Black hair?”

Scorpia blinked, then snorted a laugh, “Oh Cat… that was my  _ mother _ .”

“No… no, your mother had the blonde hair - like yours!”

“Also my mother,” Catra stared at the Reverend, who smiled back gently, “My parents are from a more… carefree part of the country, where such social mores as ‘ _ natural _ pairings’ are not forced on you as dogmatic truth! ANd, well, I was brought up with that in mind. And it is also why this is a perfect match! Now, not a bad word, really, to say about Lady Shadow d’Weaver, but she isn’t entirely supportive of that. More… tolerant. However, she is a shrew follower of the social movement of the day and as such has not opposed my own desires in that department, for which I am grateful. And not just because my own holdings at the Rectory would be in jeopardy if she had taken against it…”

Catra held up a hand, “Well, um, this is… a sudden and unexpected shift. But, please, Scorpia, a moment. Why is this perfect?”

“Why, because I come from a family that is already accepting of the choices of Mara! And my patron is not politically or societally opposed to it! And, well, we are a good match! You would be the belle of any social event in the North! Able to run laps about the dizzy old men there! And because I love you!”

That made Catra blink in surprise, the earnest declaration a strangely offensive barb. Scorpia was a friend, but they had barely exchanged more than passing notes or polite conversations in their adolescent years, “Reverend, I do fear that is yet another  _ presumptuous  _ statement! We have not yet courted, not yet… truly gotten to know one another!”

“Well, we are amending that state of affairs, are we not?” Scorpia beamed widely, “Come! Let’s, um… let’s walk hereabouts and you can… tell me about your particulars!”

“My… particulars?”

“Your distractions! Hobbies! Acquaintances! I understand your stay at Thaymor House was eventful. A nice place, we passed the grounds on our way here. Not nearly as grand as Lady Shadow d’Weaver’s holdings, all told. She has thirteen bedrooms, you know? And  _ two _ conservatories.”

“Gosh. Two, you say?” managed Catra weakly. They walked and, in spite of Scorpia’s idea, they talked little of Catra’s ideals; no, rather Scorpia prattled. The brunette had a sudden insight into the woman: she was nervous. But still she waffled on, asking a question, then interrupting before Catra had a moment to interject.

“And of course, we have ample space in the gardens for you to read in, to dabble in activities of your choice. Oh! And several rooms for expansion for when children are…”   
  


Catra thudded to a halt and turned her irate gaze upon the Reverend. The woman had her hands in something of a prayer position and her eyes widened in surprise at Catra’s incredulous stare, “We are not betrothed and yet you talk of future attitudes and attributes as if it is a mere formality that my opinion will be a factor!”

The good reverend looked nonplussed, then blanched, “Oh, um, no! I mean, of course not, I just, um, well, because we got on so well I thought…”   
  


“Scorpia, we correspond in the most paltry on manners - I do not wish to be  _ abrupt _ but our exchanges are sincere, robust, but  _ lacking _ .”

“Not true, Cat! Your writings are of the most passionate expressions! Every word leaps from the page and into my heart!”

“I wrote about  _ the weather _ , Scorpia. Or about the latest minor tidbits of gossip from Mr Lashor’s latest bridge tournament.”

“And what a gripping tale it was! How he flew into a funk over having accidentally forgetting he was the dummy that one round!”

Catra stared at her, “It was  _ dull _ , Scorpia.”

The blonde smiled and for a moment there was a calm on her face. A tranquility of affection - honest, earnest and true. Scorpia had always been the responsible guest, helping Catra when she had scraped a knee, or misplaced a journal. Ever helpful. But they had not been  _ close _ for many years; and even back then it had been a closeness of playmates and forced socialisation. Clearly, however, it had led to a form of infatuation; whereas in Catra it was mere fondness, flattery at the appreciation.

She pondered that, for a moment - was that so bad? Her choices were sparse, after all. Even in this more understanding of shires, it was hardly a bountiful crop of opportunity.

A Reverend’s wife had cache, had status and would guarantee a line of inheritance for her family; it would allow her to secure the holdings against any more solid relatives with a formal legal tie; would avoid all legal challenges as she would be in a formal arrangement with another solid family.

And yet there was something missing from Scorpia’s earnest expression. It was infatuation, yes. A deep, almost burning enthusiasm - yearning, perhaps. But those eyes lacked the piercing set to them; the ability to strip past her walls of sardonic commentary and her thrust of sneering barbs.

Also, they were not  _ blue _ _. _

Catra found that particular thought to be an intrusive one  _ at best _ . She rolled her shoulders and raised her chin. Scorpia smiled wider and shook her head.

“Perhaps dull for you, but to me it was the sunrise. I am just so  _ fond _ of you, oh Cat-of-the-wilds. Such a tempestuous soul! I come alive around you, find myself driven to be better! You are a whirlwind!”

And then it settled onto Catra the issue. She tilted her head to regard the woman - attractive, kind, friendly. And yet that missing thing.

Scorpia was better for knowing Catra, yes. But was Catra better for knowing Scorpia? And, truly, was Catra a positive influence, or merely an invention within the mind of the Reverend?

“Who am I, Reverend?”

“Oh, why… Catra Moon!”

“What is my favoured text?”

“Oh, um… gosh, you said in a letter you had read a treatise on um… oh gosh what was it?”

“My favoured musical piece?”

“Oh, well…”

Catra smiled, “And what is your position on what I should be doing in your household?”

“Well, you would want for nothing, after all! I would… I would look after you! And with my patron, well, we would have… respect and protection and…”

“A gilded cage? Benign domesticity? You think that is what I aspire to? To simper on your arm, to be naught but a bauble?”

“No! No! I… I want you to be HAPPY, Cat. You made me so happy, so… I wish to repay the sentiment.”   
  


Catra flung her hands in the air, “It is not so simple! I could not countenance being in a partnership so unequal. So flawed in its sentiment. You list how I make YOU happy yet you seem to not understand my own whims and wishes! You waffle and wind on, not even thinking before you speak, madam, and it is vexing!”

Scorpia recoiled, though in truth Catra’s rage was not at all stoked by the Reverend herself; she had merely fanned the flames of ire, as Catra’s own frustrations boiled over the pot of her inner self. The situation with Mr Archer, couple with her fears for the future of her family.

Catra uncoiled, realising she had quite overstepped the mark. Her face fell into a schooled, neutral mask and she opened her mouth, but was beaten there by Scorpia’s quiet rebuke.

“I feel you have made your feelings on the subject clear. I am… disappointed I was not able to convince you at this juncture and, honestly, I wish you had been as forthright from the start of our correspondences. It is… it is my honest appraisal that you are not a particularly decent confidant nor acquaintance.”

“Reverend…”

“No, it is… it is quite alright…”   
  


“Scorpia. Be honest. You want me, but you do not  _ know _ me,” Catra reined her frustrations in and smoothed her dress, “I would be poor company and I feel I am ill suited to your aspirations.”

A faint flicker of hope crossed Scorpia’s face, “But see, we can learn! This time is a gift to do so!”

In response, Catra held up a hand, “We shall attend the ball. As acquaintances. Let us converse more, Reverend. But for now, please would you leave me to my thoughts? I am aware I have wounded you and wish to be no further a burden upon your pride. If I am honest… this is why I could not be your wife… the idea of depriving you of happiness by miring in my own melancholy? Disatisfying.”

Scorpia pursed her lips, then nodded with finality, but a smile tugged at her face, “ANd that is why I find you so…. Wonderful Cat. Considering me! Even know! I hold out hope! Indeed. Well. Goodness, quite the emotional exultation! I will retire to the drawing room. Perhaps you would… join me there later?”

“Perhaps,” smiled Catra, faintly, still mildly exasperated at the woman’s dogged enthusiasm and determination. She had no intention of heading to the drawing room, and yet felt somewhat beholden to due the emotional turmoil clearly within the Reverend. But to agree to a life of dissatisfaction to resolve a momentary heartbreak? That was a compromise she felt would ill serve them both.

A moment later and Catra was alone once more with her thoughts.

The situation with Mr Archer would need resolving; a decision regarding the Reverend would require a clarification of her position; and then what of the future?

Shrouded in melancholy, Catra found herself back inside the house. She headed for her room and breezed past Glimmer. The woman seemed to be obnoxiously cheerful, in the manner of any in love. That fact alone merely soured Catra’s mood further.

“You appear to be dining on lemons, sister dear,” chided the smiling girl. Catra shook her head and darted into her room, emerging with gloves and bonnet.

“Hardly. Merely… a state of ennui that shall pass with a constitutional walk.”   
  


“No romantic rendezvous planned with the amorous Reverend?” Glimmer’s voice was laced with scandalised anticipation. Also, no small amount of glee. Catra froze on the stairs, then turned to give her sister an incredulous stare. So incredulous that one of her eyelids twitched.

“NO!”

“Well it might do you good. To perchance hold hands and enjoy a private promenade!”

“I am agog,” Catra’s voice dipped to a flatter register, “You held hands. And now you are the expert on all things romantic and lustful in the world?”

“We… well, I… a lady does not kiss and tell!” Glimmer squeaked. She folded her arms and tilted her chin, which made Catra snort.

“My sparkling love, you are too perfect. Also, clearly a lot to learn. No, the Reverend still wishes to press her suit but I desire some solitude… to contemplate the future,” Catra’s voice creaked a little at that last moment and Glimmer rushed forward to clasp her hands.

“Sister, the weight of the family is not on you. Father and Mother are in rude health; the Reverend, whilst in the line of inheritance, is not stipulated in the will, and no doubt the bylaws will allow for us to inherit the property. And my pending engagement will secure things, so fret not!”

Catra stiffened, “ _ He _ has propositioned you thus?”   
  


The blush that crept up Glimmer’s neck was deep, “Not as yet. But his intention is clear. I know it. Beauregard is a man of dedication and focus, albeit nerves and shyness as well. He will do so soon, I have no doubt.”   
  


Within her chest, Catra’s heart felt like it would tear anew - the cad would likely get his jollies and move along. Like with that serving girl - some poor slip of a maid (Albeit a tall, well defined slip, but still) Glimmer would be another notch on some bounder’s bed post. This intention or belief had to be quashed, but also had to be done in a way to minimise the harm to poor, sweet Glimmer.

She managed a smile, “Well, I hope it all turns out well.”

“Where is your enthusiasm, sister? I thought you fond of the man! Or has Mr De Gray fully annoyed you to make you so vexatious towards Mr Archer?”

“Put it from your mind, Glimmer,” Catra squeezed her sister’s hands and shook them gently, then released, “I am in a funk of sorts. It will pass.”

She turned and descended, then strode from the mansion.

* * *

Town was a mixed bag of experiences for Adam. The conversation with the ladies that morning, days ago now, had been partly true - business had called the gentleman away, but it was really business of the heart. The heart that had driven Adam to leave the room as their true namesake.

_ Adora had stolen across the landing of Thaymor house and frozen at the sound of Catra’s sleepy voice. A stumbled response and an affected accent had enabled her to steal onward to Beauregard’s room. He was still peaky but had welcomed her in with a look of concern. _

_ She rarely tread the halls beyond her rooms in her natural state. Free from the trappings of duty, status and expectation, she had sunk to the floor at the foot of her friend’s bed and wept. _

_ “Adora…” Beauregard had sat next to her and pulled her into a side hug, “It’s Catra, right?” _

_ She had not been able to talk, only to weep. The viciousness of the irony - to find a woman so perfect, so matched to Adora’s own mind: quick of wit, wry of humour, and with the tenacity of a lioness. Her beauty was merely an added layer on the pattern of the woman’s perfection. _

_ At least according to Adora. _

_ And yet, as Adam, she was as distant as the stars. _

_ “You fell, hard, am I correct?” Beauregard’s words were a whisper of sadness. Adora had nodded at them. _

_ “I… how? I barely know her! Three meetings, Beauregard! THREE! What am I, some soppy milkmaid?” _ _   
  
_

_ “No, you are a De Gray. And we both know how stubborn and wilful your family are.” _

_ Adora had tipped her head back against the end of the bed, “Curse Adam for absconding. Leaving me with this… this mess.” _

_ “You don’t know that he had a choice. The seas are treacherous. And your opponents opportunistic. But… perhaps the truth would be the best course in this endeavour?” _

_ “Are you mad? She would think me a deviant! Or… a coward,” Adora had folded her arms across her knees, then rested her chin atop them, “A shadow. It is all I am now. A shadow, a signature and a sorrow.” _

Adam sighed as Swiftwind slowed to a canter amidst the trees.  _ Adora _ had left Beauregard’s rooms before dawn, having found no way forward. Well, no way that Adora could sensibly take without much risk. And  _ Adam _ had descended the stairs to plead off.

It had been hard, as those eyes had stared through Mr De Gray’s words, had taken the gentleman in.  _ Harden your heart, _ came the words,  _ if you wish to continue this charade. It can brook no distraction _ .

Poison, yes. But a challenge, also. And the one who spoke those words would seize on any weakness, any chink in the armour of Adam’s ruse.

A snap of twigs drew Mr De Gray’s attention. A pull on the reins and Swiftwind turned with a whinny, to face a startled figure emerging from one of the bridleway paths. Brunette hair spilled out from a hastily bound bonnet and a familiar pair of mismatched eyes stared up at Mr De Gray. The expression on Catra’s face was tense, almost hostile.

_ Bugger _ was the word that immediately sprang to mind. Also, words pertaining to the curve of the woman’s lips, the tilt of her brow, the way she held her shoulders…

“Did you knock your head sir, considering how high your elephant raises you?” and of course, her acerbic attitude was a pleasure to be balmed with. Mr De Gray smirked leisurely back at her. Banter, crude though it was, was a safer recourse.

“Swiftwind would object to so mismatched a comparison. I was merely shocked that a woman of aspiring means would drag herself through a hedgerow.”

“Some of us are unafraid to get our hands and feet a little muddy.”

“Some of us would say that foolish when a perfectly serviceable horse is available.”

“Please, sir, one does not wish to hear of you servicing horses at this time of day.”

“Which time of day would you consider appropriate for such a topic? I am friends with several notable stable owners, should you care for a boringly long lecture to be arranged at a time of your choosing?”

Catra stared up and a smile actually crept across her features for a moment. It dulled and the frown returned, but it seemed more confused than angry. Mr De Gray huffed, then swung off the horse to land easily on the soil. Reins in hand, the gentleman approached Catra, but paused a respectful distance away.

“My apologies. The first time we conversed, I did so from an assumed position of authority and intimidation. That was… mostly for my benefit. I am better with a distance between my conversation partners.”

“Hardly, your engagement of us at dinner seemed well practiced,” Again that shrewd assessment with a narrowing of those vibrant eyes.

“That is only because I… was among friends. And, well… I do hope we are at least pleasant acquaintances now, Ms Moon?” Mr De Gray swallowed, then held up a hand, “Though I am sure you are able to pick and choose your desired acquaintances… I would be honoured to be counted among them.”

Catra regarded the gentleman, her face now almost stricken, “What manner of fellow are you? Such contradictions and queer concerns. Ice a moment, then a summers breeze, then steel. You are a strange one sir.”

Mr De Gray chuckled, “Fellow, eh? True, I am an… odd duck? Yes, I suppose that’d fit.”

“And yet friends with Mr Archer,” the words seemed strained, odd, “Your characters seem so at odds.”

“I am perhaps a balance for him. And he I. We offset each others flaws, allow us to be better.”   


“You know the man well then?”

“As well as any, I suppose. Better than most. But can you really know a man, truly? We all have our secrets, our parts of ourselves we save for someone special,” Mr De Gray smiled, knowing that Catra clearly wanted reassurance that Glimmer was the soon to be North-star in Beauregard’s sky. Yet her expression seemed, if possible, more troubled.

“Indeed. How can one truly know someone after mere moments…” her voice was still strained, thick and thoughtful.

“You seem troubled, Ms Moon. Is there… would you walk with me? Would it help ease your concerns?” the troubled expression touched Adam in a way not expected. A sudden, intense desire to wipe away the frown, to caress that cheek and promise that  _ all would be well _ suffused Adam’s being.

Catra moved and tilted her head, then nodded slowly, “A walk would be good. Though I regret I may be a poor conversationalist.”

“As long as we do not discuss horse servicing, I feel any topic worthy with you as its orator.”

The woman flushed and swallowed, her face now screwed up in a confused expression, “Sir, you are too familiar.”

“Hardly. We are acquaintances. We have shared wine. And I will not patronise you with topics pertaining to weaving, washing or wist.”

“Ah, the gentleman feels himself a poet!”

“A term of penmanship that left its scars upon me. Do not ask for a sonnet, pray. I will mangle it.”

They walked, Swiftwind plodding beside Adam on one side, Catra the other. They discussed all manner of topics - the wars, the nature of the village, the livelihood of the city. Ahead, the grand grounds of Thaymor manor loomed and Catra paused. A frown on her face once more, she turned to Mr De Gray.

“You are perhaps the last person I should ask this of, but… you appear an honest gentleman. Your brusqueness and lack of decorum indicate a forthright attitude.”

“And your honest appreciation in pointing that out states likewise,” Adam returned. Catra spread her hands in acceptance, then pressed on.

“I am faced with a choice. Neither particularly pleasant.”

“Are you at liberty to divulge this?”

She regarded the gentleman and sighed, “I cannot elaborate on the detail, for it is a private matter. Part of it. However, I am likely to be forced to choose between allowing someone to make a mistake in the name of happiness… or to harm them in the pursuit of longer term joy… and if I choose the latter, I may have to agree to other further arrangements to ensure some security."

Mr De Gray frowned and swallowed, “So, a choice? Between a rock and hard place, it sounds like.”

Catra nodded quickly, “It is a matter of honour and avoiding a scandal on behalf of someone I am very fond. And the decision there would likely impact my second choice…. To be married or not.”   


The words made Mr De Gray tighten the grip on Swiftwind’s reins, “Married you say? I thought….”

“A Reverend is calling. An… old friend. A distant cousin by marriage. She is… at least aligned in my orientation and not at all unpleasant. Albeit I have reservations,” her mismatched eyes turned to Mr De Gray, “So, what options do I have?”

The gentleman met those gorgeous, glinting gems and swallowed. Adam…  _ Adora _ … felt her heart tearing once more, “You choose the  _ right _ thing. The thing that helps the most. That is… what I have endeavoured to do.”   


“And what of what makes me happy?” huffed Catra.

“Do you know which choice does that?”

“Neither!”

Mr De Gray swallowed, “Then… perhaps… there are other avenues to consider. Must you choose now?”

Catra smoothed her skirts, “No… no, I have time.”

“Then do not rush rashly. Consider and plan. You are a shrewd woman of means; a formidable mind. Do not… do not make a choice that you will regret, that will trap you into a life not of your choice, if you have a chance to avoid it.”

“You speak as if you understand the notion well,” Catra’s voice was soft and curious. Mr De Gray gave a short nod, but did not meet her gaze.

“Quite so. I did not choose this life.”

“A life of leisure and wealth?” snorted Catra and  _ Adora _ flinched at the derision there. Mr De Gray shrugged.

“A landlord. A master of the house. Duty and responsibility are not things one can take off like a shift at the end of the day.”   


Catra laughed and shook her head, “Says the gentleman out riding and likely going shooting later. Life comes easy to the male, we know this.”

Mr De Gray looked up at the trees above, then at Catra. The woman stilled, surprised at the intensity of the expression on the gentleman’s face. An expression that smoothed into a colder tranquility momentarily, before it returned to an easy smile. One that did not reach the gentleman’s pained, blue eyes.

“True. It is easier, you are right. What would I know of chains and the like? I am, I know… privileged.”

The gentleman turned and patted Swiftwind on the flank. Catra coughed and glanced about, “I fear I have offended you, sir?”

“Oh… fear not, Ms Moon. I am… used to the commentary. I am privileged. I cannot shirk that, nor would I wish to. It affords me opportunity,” Adam turned and offered a shrug, “I do hope you are not vexed overmuch by this choice of yours. Should you find yourself in need of a retreat, I am sure Mr Archer would not hesitate to offer you sanctuary.”

“A kind offer, sir… but I am more than capable of making this choice without charity.”

Mr De Gray sighed, “Quite so, Ms Moon. Of course, should you call I would be most honoured by your visit. But I do hope you do not feel that  _ charity _ ?”

Catra folded her arms and looked everywhere but at the gentleman, “No. Your conversation is passable.”

That drew a laugh from the gentleman, “High praise. Well, I must bid you good day, Ms Moon. Thank you for a most entertaining walk and for gracing me with your company.”

With a single swift motion, Mr De Gray mounted the white charger and touched the brim of the top hat atop blonde locks. Catra gave a small curtsey, “Good day to you sir. And… thank you. I have much to ponder.”

Adam nodded, then turned Swiftwind and cantered away towards Thaymor manor. For Mr De Gray’s part, the thoughts were a mess of disappointment and sadness - disappointment in Catra’s easy dismissal of the achievements  _ Adam _ …  _ Adora _ had made. Sadness because that emotion stemmed from her lack of understanding of the nature of those achievements. But knowledge that to let her into that locked part of  _ Adora’s _ life would be a step too far, perhaps.

And the conversation on the  _ nature _ of Catra’s choices niggled and grew, like a seed, a weed within Mr De Gray’s mind. What could such a choice entail to worry such a stalwart and determined creature as Ms Catra Moon?

Perhaps the ball would reveal the trouble.

Of course, Mr De Gray was not the only one pondering.

Catra’s own steps were slow and steady as she made for home, turning over Mr De Gray’s comments in her head; as well as the look of pain on that handsome face at her teasing of his  _ struggles _ . Truly she did not know his past, save the possibility of a sister. This  _ Adora _ that had been mentioned?

But Mr De Gray had said to do the  _ right _ thing. The upstanding, moral thing. And what was that?

Another thought skated by, almost unnoticed, but it made Catra’s brow furrow ever so briefly in mild confusion.

_ A shift? Womans-wear… _

A thought, just out of reach, nagged but she pushed it away as her other ideas scrambled for notice. She needed to do the right thing. Pain was immaterial if it prevented immorality and agony for one she loved. And Mr De Gray had, after all, also said that to choose to be unhappy would be a losing game.

She rolled her shoulders, mind made up.

The ball. It would have to be at the ball. To firmly push matters into place.

For her sister. And for her own peace of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, the ball was supposed to happen here, but this expanded and, well, gotta set up that DRAMA.
> 
> I promise, some HORDAK next chapter. As well as ULTIMATUMS!
> 
> As ever, feedback is appreciated - did this work for you? I'm trying to keep Scorpia SWEET but also point out that... she loves Catra, but doesn't KNOW Catra. Save on wanting to LOOK AFTER HER. Did that come across?
> 
> And Adam / Adora... finding it a lot harder to keep things separate right now with Duty versus Cute girl.


	11. A dance: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Moons (And Reverend) attend a ball
> 
> Catra plays matchmaker.
> 
> A certain Captain drops a bombshell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a two-part chapter for the ball!
> 
> Expect Glimbow drah-mah in Part II
> 
> I reckon I may need to up this to... 17 chapters. We shall SEE.

“Catra, dear, your gloves?” Angella’s tone was calm, but held a hint of apprehension. Usually it would be Micah fetting, but the woman seemed a little more agitated with the Reverend’s endless effervescence permeating the household. The woman was tenacious and seemed outright oblivious to any form of external critique, guidance or attempt at moderation.

It would have been an admirable trait if it did not border on obsessive.

Catra had ended up returning to the drawing room after her promenade with Mr De Gray. She had sat with the Reverend and found herself the object of the tall woman’s terrifyingly enthusiastic focus. And she had explained to Scorpia that, at this juncture, marriage was not her objective. That she would be unable to commit, to be the best self she could be. That her temperament, due to external factors would be unable to truly grant Scorpia the measure of affection she deserved.

And the Reverend had responded, with “So, not quite a no then?”

And once more, Catra had reiterated her reluctance. The Reverend had wrung her hands and responded with, “So, more a  _ not yet _ ?”

This had caused Catra to twitch in a most unladylike fashion and she had managed to grind out a reply of, “I intend to marry for love, Reverend. And whilst I am  _ fond _ of you, my heart does not lean that way. And I feel you deserve that. So, please do not twist and twitch my words. Understand I have no desire to, nor the wherewithal to marry you.”

Scorpia had appeared confused, mildly crestfallen, but had rallied and stood. She had taken Catra’s hand and kissed it, then smiled, “Well, I hope we can remain cordial and friends. I will not take this rejection to heart. May we still dance at the ball later?”

And then after that things had actually settled into a more acceptable air/ Of course, it actually meant that the Reverend shared her intense enthusiasm and the remainder of the family, previously spared, were now subjected to her terrifying keenness.

Mermista had hidden in her room, whilst Glimmer had decided to remain in town with Frosta. Entrapta, on the other hand, proved a fantastic occupier of the Reverend’s time - her own enthusiasm and propensity for indulging and explaining found a welcome audience with the Reverend who, in turn, pressed Entrapta for further detail. Whilst not a romantic match, there was a definite kinship there. Oddly, Catra found them a soothing background noise whilst she read, even involving herself in their conversation.

Of course, all that had left everyone a little bit socially overwhelmed by the time the evening of the ball arrived, a scant two days after her walk. It had been illuminating and she had taken note of Mr De Gray’s stance when she’d mentioned the possible nuptials. Honestly, it was another strange sense of melancholy that she almost regretted revealing that. As if, on some level, she had wanted the gentleman to say something.

Except that made no sense, as the core fact was that Mr De Gray  _ was _ a gentleman! Key observance on the word man in the moniker.

She felt very out of sorts, all told. But to avoid the ball would be unwise - she needed to at least begin the work on Mr Archer, to set out her intent and her observation. A place in public, but with discretion.

Angella’s words pulled Catra back to the here and now. She nodded to her mother, then darted to the stairs, intent on her room. A maid, however, descended and handed the red, elbow length gloves to her, “Have a pleasant eve’n ma’am,” the maid nodded and curtseyed, demurely. She was a pretty little thing, although her eyes were brown, not blue. For a moment, Catra pondered the actions of Mr Archer - he was not beholden to anyone - was there a sin there? Were his actions indicative of future intent?

And yet she knew she would not take advantage of the help. There was a disparity there, a thing that felt  _ wrong _ .

It was only as she clambered into the coach with her family that her mind flickered to the pondering of the colour of the maid’s eyes.

Very strange.

* * *

The Lucas’s own home was only slightly larger than the Moon’s. Myst Corner was a deceptively large home, its size masked by the way it was built into a slope and with a large pond curving about one of its wings. Mrs Casta Lucas was an artist and had encouraged her husband to expand the home using the natural flow of the land. Her daughter was a little more focused on the integration of the natural world and the gardens were a thing of beauty, spoken of across the county - pergolas and gazebos constructed from trees and roses woven together; wild-flower mazes; beautiful, intricate flower arrangements that bedecked the whole home.

This of course meant that the ball was also part garden-party. A small series of marquees had been set up outside to provide warmth and light for any who desired air from the ball-room, which opened up onto a stone patio.

The Moon’s, plus the Reverend, descended the carriage steps, then moved towards the entryway where they were greeted by a butler. Immediately Glimmer fanned herself and squeaked, “Mr Archer he... He is by the window…”

Catra flinched but managed to school her runaway emotions. She glanced across the hall and spotted Mr Archer, through the open double doors into the ballroom. Mr Archer was indeed visible - but only just - by the entrance to the patio. And it appeared that Perfuma was holding his attention.

This led to somewhat of a dilemma - was Catra to allow the potential courting of the cad by her friend? Surely that would doom another dear to her? But it would spare Glimmer and, in the balance, family came first, surely.

“Who… is that?” murmured the Reverend, at Catra’s other arm. The brunette blinked at the quiet, almost reverent term. She filed the comparison away, mildly amused at her own internal humour, but turned to regard the tall blonde.

“Who is… who?”

Scorpia flushed, suddenly intensely aware of whom she was talking to, “Oh, who? I meant… who is… Mr Archer? I was asking Glimmer! Yes, yes I was indeed!”

Another possibility presented itself in Catra’s mind, a way to perhaps save her friend as well. She smirked at the Reverend, “Well, I suppose you aren’t guilty of idle hands or the sin of apathy, Scorpia. Never let it be said you waste a moment.”

The Reverend flushed slightly then tilted her chin, “Perhaps. So, shall… we go find some… sustenance and,  _ mingle _ ,” of course, Scorpia pronounced it ‘Min-gelay’. Behind them, Mermista snorted and Frosta groaned. With a sigh, Angella led them into the fray.

This was merely the pre-drinks - there would be a dinner, or at least a rotating table for people to drift in from the dancing to sit and be served. Catra scanned the attendees and found it to be the usual crowd of local well-to-do’s. She nodded at Spinnerella and Netossa, who were in quiet conversation with Casta herself. It appeared that the tennant, Ms Juliette, was also in attendance. And on Mrs Lucas’ arm no less! The woman looked self conscious, but proud. And, for her part, Catra noted that Casta Lucas appeared to have a firm, reassuring grip on the woman’s arm, with their hands grasped together. She smiled, as a strange sense of envy swept across her form. It left her skin flushed and her thoughts uncomfortable.

Catra would not begrudge that which others had found. Especially as she  _ had _ had the opportunity. Even if said opportunity felt very  _ incorrect _ for a whole encyclopedia's worth of reasons. As she walked, she engaged in polite conversation with several others from the area, moving carefully around the more idle gossip mongers and to a few of the more personable sorts.

She saw Mr Lashor, his once-muscular frame now portly; his skin flushed near pink with port, making conversation with a gaunt gentleman across the room, bedecked in some uniform of one of the Regiments. The taller man was striking - firm, austere, not unlike Mr De Gray. Except  _ this _ gentleman appeared to have a following of gasping young ladies lurking nearby, hiding their faces behind their fans. She pondered at that - the man appeared aloof, certainly. But was that an attractive trait? Some seemed to think so of Mr De Gray, but that man was reserved. She had assumed arrogance but saw now a certain hesitancy. This gentleman looked like he should own the room. Or at least felt it thus.

She turned and found Mermista at her elbow, “Who is the gentleman there?” inquired Catra. Her sister gave her a sideways glance.

“Really? First Mr De Gray, then a proposition from the dear Reverend and now you’re back on  _ our _ side of the garden fence?”

Catra slapped her wrist and grimaced, “Hardly. But I have not seen him here before.”

“Pay attention, Cat. There’s a few Officers here.”

“So, a uniform and everyone fawns?”

Mermista shrugged, “It helps. Maybe masks their other unpleasant traits. But good tailoring goes a long way. And, you know, reserved and  _ mysterious _ \- always a good draw. Too obvious and a woman might see right through you!” The woman snorted, “I hear a few of the younger gentlemen are trying to appear more cultured than they are, to appear charming. And what better way to mask shortcomings than by saying nothing at all?”

“What, indeed,” smirked Catra. They trailed the outside of the room and Catra noted that Glimmer was now at Mr Archer’s side, with Micah and Angella nearby. That would make things much trickier.

“I see your secret admirer.”

Catra froze and glared at Mermista. The taller girl grinned and gently turned Catra to face into the room. Near the ornate mantelpiece Catra spotted Mr De Gray. The gentleman had on a glorious red coat and white dress-shirt. A grey waistcoat and matching britches made the man look  _ almost _ regimental, save the lack of any brocade and rank buttons. And yet it fitted Mr De Gray better than the tailored getup of many of the officers present.

She frowned, however as she noted Mr De Gray’s expression. There was a scowl there. Catra followed the gentleman’s gaze and realised it was directed towards the gaunt fellow.

Most curious. Mermista watched as well and glanced at her sister, “Well, there’s something. The normally collected Mr De Gray all hot under the collar… and not for you, for once!” she nudged Catra who merely hummed in reply.

There was something there and she decided it worth exploring. Mr De Gray and Mr Archer were, perhaps, not as clean as they claimed - so one for whom they held open animosity was perhaps a good avenue for information or, at the very least, insight.

Their traipsing brought them to where Scorpia stood. She had a glass in one hand and a sizeable collection of empty glasses arrayed on the table next to her and had, apparently, managed to find Casta and Juliette. Catra stared at the glassware, then up at the flushed Reverend, who was celery holding court, whilst Casta stared with glassy eyes at the woman.

“And of course, your garden is most amazing. Lady Shadow d’Weaver, of course, keeps a garden of several hectares, but it’s mostly dense roses and rhododendrons! And a full hedge maze, she had that commissioned. Do you have many rooms? Lady Shadow d’Weaver, she says that the expanse of a property shows the depth of authority in a region. I’m not quite sure what that means, but she is  _ very _ well to do. Oh and your sconces for the torches are most lovely! I have one of the candelabra’s from the main house in my dining room, a gift you know, from Lady Shadow…”

“Fascinating,” managed Casta, weakly. Juliette had Casta’s hand in a white knuckle grip and appeared on the verge of laughter, her eyes bright and wide. Spinnerella and Netossa shared a look of surprised and entranced horror as Scorpia continued.

“And of course if you are ever in the region, I would be most pleased to host. We have  _ two _ guest bedrooms! Modest, perhaps, but very well to do for a rectory! Recently renovated by Lady Shadow d’Weaver… not… quite to my tastes, but still! Very generous!”

Spinnerella managed to interject, “You have… lived there long?”

“Oh, well, only a few years now. It is a bit strange being far from home, but my mothers always said I needed to stretch my wings, you know? Find someone to watch for me as I went out into the world. And, well, I was most lucky to find such a gracious patron who says she… overlooks things.”

Catra noticed a faintly pained expression cross the Reverend’s face, but it was gone a moment later. Spinnerella pressed, gently, “Mothers? Oh, um, sorry, most rude.”   
  


“Oh, no not at all! My mothers are overseas currently. Ophelia is a seamstress, from a mercantile line. Not viewed as… fondly here, I know. And Imogen is, well, she  _ is _ from a good line, but um… the pairing was…” Scorpia coughed and smiled, “They are so happy though. I think they find it strange I’m under the patronage of Lady Shadow d’Weaver, but honestly, I am most grateful for her generosity.”

This was certainly all new to Catra and she shared a confused glance with Mermista. Trust Spinnerella to tease out the truth. Or part of it. She smiled at the tall woman, “Scorpia, perhaps some food will be agreeable? I am sure Casta needs to greet her other guests. Are you well?”

Scorpia blinked and stared at her, whilst behind her, Netossa grinned broadly. Casta shot Catra a grateful nod and tugged Juliette away, the woman still desperately trying to conceal her giggles. The Reverend coughed, glanced at her collection of empty glasses and blushed

“ME? Oh, never better! Just, you know, well… been a while since I’ve been to an event like this. Lady Shadow d’Weaver doesn’t really do large functions. More personable, smaller. Intimate? Makes you feel  _ seen _ . And, well, it’s all so much and our hostesses are so kind and lovely and Perfuma looks so amazing…” Scorpia’s mouth appeared to shut with the speed of a bear trap.

Mermista blinked and shook her head, then glanced to her sibling, “You are seeing this, right?”

“Indeed I am. Come Reverend?”

The brunette glanced about, trying to spy Perfuma. She appeared to have moved away and Catra grunted in frustration. That would have to wait. Instead, she and Mermista guided the Reverend from the ballroom towards the dining area, across the hall. The room was fairly full and Catra froze for a moment as she saw Mr De Gray, seated at one of the tables. The gentleman appeared to be making polite conversation with a young woman. Long blonde hair, clothes fair too tight on the body and, frankly, what sort of woman laughed so hard at not even a  _ joke _ .

“Catra… are you ok?” Mermista’s voice jolted the brunette from her focus and she glanced sharply at her sister. The taller girl smiled faintly and nodded towards Mr De Gray, “Jealous?”

The word landed like the kick from a horse. Catra actually gasped, “What? Why? NO!”

The laugh that Mermista barked out drew some attention from the room, but not overmuch - many were used to the antics of the Moon sisters. The blonde next to Mr De Gray turned and Catra was struck by the strange blandness of the woman’s features. Androgynous in the extreme. The blonde met her gaze, then  _ smirked _ . Catra felt her blood boil for some strange, alien reason. Her jaw flexed as the strange blonde turned back to Mr De Gray and Catra fixed her gaze back to the blue eyed fop.

The man appeared indifferent, however. She could see that the gentleman’s jaw, sharp and firm, was clenched. And then he rose and Catra exhaled with some strange sense of  _ relief _ . She watched the gentleman give an almost impertinent, barely there, bow to the blonde at the table, then turn.

Right into Scorpia. Who had somehow moved forward without either sister knowing. Mermista groaned with dread, “Oh no, she’s going to talk to him…”

Catra felt frozen, “She hasn’t been  _ introduced!” _

Etiquette was everything; a guest had to be presented by a mutual acquaintance; to simply accost another, beyond one’s host, for conversation was most impolite and reeked of assumption and, to some, of  _ social climbing _ .

“Mr De Gray, a pleasure sir, a real pleasure!” around the pair, the room slowly fell to silence. Mr De Gray stared at Scorpia as she loomed above him. The Reverend clutched her hands together and grinned, “Sir, we share a common acquaintance, although I overstep my assumptions slightly. I am the Reverend on the estate of Lady Shadow d’Weaver…”

Catra was shocked once again at the sudden tightness of Mr De Gray’s expression. The man’s throat seemed to constrict and she saw hands flex into fists, then back again. But the gentleman merely stared back at Scorpia. The Reverend seemed surprised at the lack of response.

“You… you are of course acquainted with her ladyship? I understand she was something of a family friend. She was in the best of health… twelve days ago.”

Mr De Gray arched an eyebrow, “Indeed. That is your understanding?”

The gentleman’s voice was calm, but had an edge to it. Scorpia, of course, seemed completely unaware and ploughed on, “Of course! Such a generous woman, considering my own… well, obviously my background was not to her normal acceptance, but she was most kind in offering me her parish as my first installment.”

Mr De Gray stared at her for a moment longer and even Scorpia seemed to realise that there was something amiss. Then the gentleman spoke again, “And what is your name, Madam?”

“It… I am Scorpia Collins, sir.”   
  


Mr De Gray nodded and then smiled sadly at the Reverend. With a nod, he stepped away from her and walked away, headed for one of the other doors. Scorpia blinked in surprise and bit her lip, then turned to give Catra a confused stare.

“I see  _ Mister _ De Gray has lost none of their charm,” came a clipped voice from next to Catra. She arched an eyebrow and looked to her right to find the gaunt man stood next to her.

“A slew of assumptions there, sir,” she responded, cautiously.

“Indeed?”

“First, to assume I am aware of any such charms the gentleman could possess. And for you to assume charm on the man’s behalf. And then to assume I am interested?”

A slow grin crawled over that pale face, a strange expression. It appeared alien and yet also intriguing. The man looked at her, then bowed, “My apologies, madam. I have also been impertinent in engaging you in conversation without properly introducing myself. Please forgive me. Captain Hordak of the First Infantry.”

Catra pursed her lips and sighed, “Ms Catra Moon. And my sister, Mermista.”

Hordak bowed again to Mermista, “A pleasure. I apologise for intruding ladies. I will trouble you no further.”

And with that he withdrew - no proposition, no attempt at smarmy small talk. Catra found it oddly refreshing. Mermista, however, frowned, “Who was he? Seemed… intense.”

“What, his air of mystery not appealing?”

“Just… not even an attempt to really engage us?” Mermista shrugged, “Eh, not the uniform I’m paying attention to anyway…” Catra followed her sister’s gaze and snorted as she spotted another officer who appeared to be eyeing the pianoforte with no small amount of relish. She nudged Mermista.

“Go, regale us with a song, before  _ he  _ does.”

Mermista gave a half-hearted groan, but practically skipped across the room towards the instrument. Catra smiled at Scorpia as the Reverend slumped down into a chair next to the brunette, “Wow, well, that man was  _ rude _ .”

“I think you’ll find, dear Reverend, that you hardly observed the social niceties yourself…”

“I mean, all I did was say hello…”

“And would you do that to Lady d’Weaver?”

“Well… I… I suppose not,” mused the Reverend. Catra sighed then smiled as she spotted a familiar face.

“Scorpia, have you had the pleasure of Ms Perfuma Lucas’ company as yet?”

The Reverend looked up, shocked, as the willowy blonde approached/ For her part, Perfuma seemed to have her gaze firmly trained on the Reverend. Catra stood and gave her friend a small hug. Perfuma arched an eyebrow, then looked at Scorpia, “Catra?”

“Perfuma, this is my good  _ friend _ , Scorpia Collins. Reverend Scorpia Collins. She has a Rectory in the north, no small amount of land and apparently her patron has some wonderful gardens…”

Perfuma gave Catra another sideways look, “Indeed?”

“Also, she is for want of a wife.”

“ _ Indeed _ ,” smiled Perfuma, “And I had heard that Ms Collins had come to call on  _ you _ ?”

Scorpia looked wild eyed as she looked between the two women, her face flushed. Catra rolled her eyes and patted Perfuma’s arm, then looked at Scorpia, “Excuse us for a mere moment, Reverend,” she led Perfuma a little way towards the door and leaned closer, “Scorpia has done so. But I feel that, perhaps… she could do with someone more patient than I?”

The blonde cocked her head and leaned in, “And what makes you think…”

“Dearest Perfuma, I may not wish to marry the poor woman, but I have eyes. She is a fine specimen, is kind, sweet and supportive. She is not, however, right for me. She  _ is _ , I would argue, entirely the sort of freedom you crave. You crave to be away from here, with a woman you could learn to care about. She has not been able to tear her eyes from you all evening, even when talking to your  _ mother _ . She spotted you as soon as we entered. As you fumbled with Mr Archer, no less.”

Perfuma sighed, “I am doing no  _ fumbling _ with that man. He is besotted with your sister, as you know.”

Catra pursed her lips and that drew Perfuma into curious frown. Catra just shook her head, “I am unsure. I feel there is more to Mr Archer than we realise.”

“What has brought on such… cynicism, Catra? Has the Reverend soured you to romance so much you suspect it corrupted everywhere?”

That made Catra wince, “Hardly - she is sweet, kind and frankly, sickeningly determined. But I do not and can’t envision love with her. Even love built over years of cohabitation.”

Perfuma giggled, “So I am to have your cast offs?”

“Really, dear friend? How about you talk to her, make your own decision. She is monied, has prospects  _ and _ has two mothers. She just requires… patience, I think. And if anyone is patient, it is you.”

The blonde sighed, but she had a smile on her face. And, in truth, Catra had noticed that the freckled girl hadn’t been able to stop the furtive glances over Catra’s shoulder at the well-built Reverend. With a gentle pat, the brunette sent Perfuma across to where Scorpia sat, the statuesque Reverend looking akin to a deer caught in the sight of a hunter’s blunderbuss.

Catra almost felt bad setting Perfuma on the woman. But, to be honest, they were quite the match. She glanced over to where Mermista was now playing, her voice rich and surprisingly deep. Next to her, the officer was providing a surprisingly high pitched accompaniment. Coupled with his rather ridiculous moustache, they were quite the picture.

With a huff, Catra turned and left the dining hall. Her feet took her back to the ballroom and she espied Mr Archer for the briefest moment, heading to the patio, Glimmer in tow. She chewed her lip, then spotted the Strange Captain Hordak, back over by the canape table. The man had a strangely focused expression on his face and, as Catra approached, she noticed that Entrapta was engaging him in conversation. No, that wasn’t right; Entrapta was clearly lecturing the man.

“Entrapta dear, have you imprisoned this gentleman in a snare of your contraptions and fancies?”

“Oh! Hi Catra! I was just explaining to…” Entrapta turned her face to Hordak and chewed her lip in thought, “this man…”

“Captain Hordak,” prompted Catra with a smirk.

“Yes. This man. I was explaining my notes. I’ve been taking  _ notes _ , Catra. Social dynamics, who knows who, who does what. It’s  _ fascinating _ . Did you know Mr Lashor and Mr Grizzlor are, actually, indulging in…”

“I think that is  _ not _ the right sort of conversation for polite company, dear sister. Now… isn’t there a fountain you can go deconstruct and improve in the garden?”

“IS THERE?” with a giggle, Entrapta pranced away, her purple dress flapping as she ran, braided pigtails bouncing. Captain Hordak watched her go with a slightly dazed expression.

“I am sorry. She is a dear, but I know she can be overwhelming,” Catra cringed at her apology. She felt bad explaining her sister’s attitude. Hordak turned to her, his expression one of frustration and irritation. But only for a moment, before he masked it with a smile.

“Honestly it was… illuminating. A vibrant mind should not be wasted. Potential hidden is a sin, I find.”   
  


Catra tilted her head and shrugged, “If one can pursue that potential.”

The Captain tapped his thigh and nodded, “Quite. Limitations do abound. But all it takes is the will to push beyond them. All else is noise and excuses.”

“A bold statement, for a man.”

Hordak chuckled dryly, “Indeed. But, I must say, I am not a man of independent means; we must all strive against our own limitations. I do not doubt that those that afflict you are equally as challenging.”

“I am afflicted?” queried Catra, an eyebrow arched.

“You are a woman, so you must be. Society batters you, has you hemmed in. Or at least it used to. The seasons change.”

“Oh, I am to be lectured on this, am I?” Catra started. Hordak shot her an amused look.

“You approached me, madam. And I would not presume to lecture. I assume you came here for a reason, not just to alleviate me of the company of your sibling?”

Catra gave the man an appraising look, “Shrewd, sir. Honestly, I had come with a rather abrupt query. You seem a man, perhaps, more aware of my frustrations than others.”   
  


“I do doubt they are true frustrations, considering the sheer number of women with partners of the same inclinations. Perhaps you see it as a problem when in actuality it is merely the  _ quality _ of your options.”

“Presumptuous, sir.”

“You did ask, Ms Moon. Or rather, you left the option open. Please, ask.”

He was brusque, not dissimilar to Mr De Gray. But those eyes, faintly bloodshot and with hints of green in the iris, held no true warmth. They weren’t what she wanted to see, deep in herself.

“Mr Archer, are you well acquainted with him?”

“I cannot say that I am. I understand he is an acquaintance of… Mister… De Gray.”

“Please excuse my own presumption, but you appear to hold the gentleman in low regard.”

“Are you so close? You seek to defend the  _ man _ ?”

His tone held a note of derision, some aching animosity that piqued her curiosity, so she pressed further, “I know him. He is a man of contradictions and aloofness.”   
  


“He is a man who does not hold to his arrangements. I am… well acquainted with  _ Mister _ De Gray,” red-green eyes met hers, “I was, after all, betrothed to his sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY I DO LOVE THROWING THEM CURVEBALLS ATCHA.
> 
> Well, have to get the Wickham stuff in there, don't I?
> 
> As ever... feedback feeds my soul. Let me know your thoughts ;)


	12. A dance: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insight into the past of a Mr De Gray
> 
> A dance occurs
> 
> A decision as to confrontation is made

Catra had never been one for gossip - not the spread of it, nor the malicious cultivation of information with the intent to weaponise it. That wasn’t to say she was averse to idle teasing - she preferred to deliver such commentary direct to the individual. Verbal sparring was, after all, one area where she could engage and flex without real repercussion. Outwitting some boorish man with her rapier delivery of a jibe had made her a young lady to be feared by the drooling oafs of the county.

And, yes, she was happy to engage in the idle tittering that came from observing buffoons at parties and their drunken japery.

But to hear such a scandalous accusation in the centre of a ballroom, with who knew how many idle ears listening in - it was unheard of.

And yet she felt compelled to know more. Her eyebrows rose and she blinked, “Sir, we are barely acquainted and yet you divulge such… personal things. That… that impugned the gentleman’s honour!”

“I can say with the utmost certainty that  _ Mister _ De Gray is no gentleman,” Captain Hordak huffed and rolled his shoulders, then looked across the dance floor, “And I only say this because I am aware you are a… young lady in want of a good match. I am, perhaps speaking out of turn and for that I…. apologise. My grievances with Mister De Gray should not concern you.”

There was the ghost of a smile there. Catra frowned up at the man, her intrigue overcoming her shock, “And was that how he wounded you? The denial of a betrothal? Was the woman  _ willing _ ?” An arranged marriage felt an anathema to her - the ultimate removal of choice, with the requirements it entailed. Her voice echoed this sentiment, taking a slightly stony edge.

Hordak plucked a pair of glasses from a passing tray and offered one to Catra, his expression thoughtful, “Partly. My father, Primus Wickham, and Mister De Gray’s father, Randor Gray, were business rivals. I was… unfortunately severed from my father’s good graces and was taken in by the Gray’s. If you can fathom it, Adam, Adora and myself… we were stalwart companions. My bitterness stems from that former close connection. Forgive me, madam. It is merely difficult to revisit such memories.”

Catra’s eyebrow arched and she nodded, “Indeed, Mr Wickham. Or is it… Captain?”

“Either suits, Ms Moon.”

“So you know me?”

“I am aware of many of the county - it is always wise to understand the social waters in which one swims,” Hordak’s smile was again faint, “Also, your sister was most… generous with her sharing of information.”

Catra’s laugh was breathy and she shook her head, “My dear Entrapta is… precocious. I hope she was not a menace?”

Mr Wickham looked wistful for a moment and he shook his head, “No… no not at all. A charming young lady. So unconcerned with the vagaries of the little dance we do.”

“Quite so.”

“Are you dancing, this evening, Ms Moon?”

“If you are aware of me, you understand my position on dancing with men.”

“Quite so. But let me be clear - I have no designs upon you, in the first instance. In the second, I have experience with women who do not wish to share a future with the male of the species.”

That tidbit Catra filed away for later. Perhaps it was related to Mister De Gray and his family. There was some strangeness there, a scandal perhaps, that would explain the duplicitous nature of Mr Archer and Mister De Gray’s relationship perhaps. Still, she could not quite envisage Mister De Gray as a vile person, but certainly as a rude one. Perhaps even stubborn or unobservant - that would explain his inability to perceive the flaws of Mr Archer! Catra smiled at the officer and waved a hand airilym, “Truly your command of language does you credit, sir,” she drawled. Hordak shrugged, an expression of discomfort on his face.

“I do not believe I am comfortable with preamble or subtlety. Frankness is the only method. Forthright displays. It has led to many embarrassments, but I would rather be in that situation than compromised.”

“A man of principle. Truly a rare thing!”

The words made the man twitch slightly, “Hardly. I am but a humble gentleman looking to make his way in the world. Direct conversation removes all sense of duplicity and reduces time wasting.”

“You find conversation a waste of time?”

“I find pointless conversation a waste of time.”

Catra grinned, “Well then sir, the military may be your true calling. Hardly a font of pointless conversations.”

“You have not been subjected to a Colonel’s soiree, then; nor the endless meetings and paperwork. Truly, the military prides itself on the ability to generate all number of pointless activities.”

“So why a commission - it is a costly enterprise, is it not?”

Hordak swirled his drink and took a sip, “It is something of an investment. Connections, meetings such as this. I am able to see beyond the trite platitudes and engage with individuals who may be of benefit.”

“Ah, so noble,” smirked Catra.

“Merely pragmatic,” shrugged Hordak, “Our society is a machine that one must move with in order to survive. I am not one who would do well in the poor house, Ms Moon. I am not afraid to admit this. As such, to ensure an income, given my lack of title or estates, I must find myself a profession and a means to support myself. The military offers me a salary, connections and a roof.”

The young lady regarded the frank gentleman with an appraising stare, “You were not incorrect with your assertion of your forthright nature.”

“To what end would it serve to dissemble? You now know me and my motivations and we are the better for it. I seek stability and a future. It is not so different from the trials you must face as well?”

Catra nodded slowly, “Presented and destined to secure something, lest we fall to spinsterhood.”

“Indeed. Indeed. My… short lived engagement, I must say, was one of compromise. Adora would have wanted for nothing. It was not love, but it was  _ security _ to allow us both our pursuits and the… well, the specifics matter not, for it was not to be.”

The man looked distant once more, eyes flicking across the crowd. Catra sipped at her own drink, “You were fond of her then?”

“I was an elder sibling, to her and Adam. She was a wilful girl. No marriage would have satisfied her, nor her desire and forceful personality. A pairing between us would have solved much.”

Another vague statement. Catra frowned and shrugged, “And the rift has never healed?”

“I find the manner of the refusal to be churlish and unnecessary. But… to elaborate further would be improper, as we have only just made one another’s acquaintance, Ms Moon. And I would not have you think of me as some idle, bitter gossip.”

“Just an idle, bitter officer?” smirked Catra.

“Quite so. As I said, frankness and accuracy,” he raised his glass and Catra actually laughed. She raised hers in return.

They conversed for a while longer, until another officer approached. The man was inebriated, so Captain Hordak was forced to take charge and chapperone the man away from the dance floor. Catra paused before Hordak left and bade him farewell, “Captain Hordak, it has been a pleasure. I may indeed partake in a spin on the floor, now knowing your motivations and your desire to avoid  _ pointless _ activity. For what is the point of a dance with no objective?”

“The objective is to find satisfactory movement in line with the music. I have found this pleasing. At least on a mechanical level.” The Captain had smiled back and nodded at her.

“Sir, perhaps you and Entrapta have more in common than I believed. Thank you for the distraction.” Catra nodded, whilst Captain Hordak Wickham bowed, with a small smile on his face.

“I hope to meet you again, Ms Moon. You have proved an interesting divergence.”

“You flatter me, sir. Though I cannot ascertain why.”

They parted and Catra moved idly about the room. She spotted Mr Archer, separated from the rest of his party, idling near a table of canapes. Catra inhaled a fortifying breath and made to head towards the man, but found her way barred by a familiar, tall blonde.

“Ms Moon.”

“Mister De Gray,” it was the strangest sensation to meet that severe, tight gaze. Catra felt her cheeks flush faintly. In response to the unexpected sensation, she adopted a faint scowl, “Accosting young women again?”

“I had believed we were past that particular issue with our relationship?”

“A relationship, sir?  _ I _ believe that is the second time you have overstepped the mark with your assumptions,” her scowl shifted to a smirk. Mister De Gray, however, remained stoic.

“Perhaps so. But we do correspond,” the gentleman glanced about the room, “I met your reverend. An irreverent sort.”

That got Catra’s dander up, “She is hardly  _ mine _ …” after all, Scorpia was still a friend, one she had known longer than this confusing mess of a man, “Not that it is your business.”   
  


Mister De Gray’s expression did not change. Not even a flicker, “No. No it is not. I merely wished to see how you were… faring. Considering you were somewhat out of sorts when we last spoke I was concerned. I apologise for troubling you, Ms Moon. I wish you well in your forthcoming engagement.”

There was the briefest flicker of something there. Pain? Sorrow? Mister De Gray gave a short bow and turned to move away. Catra surged forwards and grabbed the gentleman’s wrist. A few people nearby stopped talking and one woman gasped. Mister De Gray froze, then turned slowly. Catra blinked and coughed, then slid her hand down from Mister De Gray’s wrist to the gentleman’s hand. She held it for a moment, then released it, “Um… wait, Mister De Gray. Are. You? Well. Can we dance?” it came out in a rush and part of her mind was a tizzy with confusion.

Mister De Gray looked at her and that stoic expression became faintly cracked as the gentleman’s mouth twitched into a rare smile. When they spoke, their voice was cracked but warm. And that warmth stirred a feeling in Catra she was both afraid of and fascinated by, “I would be honoured, Ms Moon.”

Catra nodded, then turned to step onto the dance floor as the string quartet began to ready for another piece. She glanced behind her and noted Mister De Gray regarding the hand that Catra had grasped, fingers flexing faintly and a strange expression of what could, perhaps, have been wonder of that stoic face.

Around them, the party seemed to slip away. Mister De Gray stepped up, lined up with the other gentlemen, Catra opposite with the women. A few of her compatriots shot her quizzical looks as they noted Mister De Gray move to join the company. Then a cheerful tune was struck by the quartet and the dancers came together.

Several steps forward, then to one side, then another. Each line in sync, mirroring their partner’s motions. A spin, a slow spin, or a small rotation about one another. Then they moved down the line and passed to another partner in a small figure eight, before they came back to their original partner.

Catra felt eyes on her and saw Glimmer at the edge of the dance floor. Her sister had a look of glee on her face and was biting her lip. Angella stood not far off, a happy, if slightly curious expression on her face. Micah just looked perplexed. She saw Frosta easily, the girl with a grin that was almost obscene upon her countenance.

She turned her attention to Mister De Gray as they settled into another pairing. The gentleman stepped forward, “I would have assumed you would have saved your dance for your fiancee?”

“She is not my fiancee, sir. Again, you seem to assume much.”

“Is it now a criminal enterprise to enquire after the well-being of one’s friends?”

“Oh, we are friends now are we sir?”

“Dour and austere I may be, but a complete ninny I am not,” chuckled Mister De Gray, “What else are we if we have traded stories and quips?”

“Rivals?”

“In what, pray? I am your superior in social standing, wealth and…. Wit?”

Catra bridled but saw the faint smile was still in place on Mister De Gray’s face. A challenge, then, “As I believe we have already established, your wit leaves much to be desired. And you merely found me in a moment of weakness. I have made a decision based not on paltry economic factors but in accordance with my heart.”

“Then you deserve all due credit, Ms Moon,” Catra almost stumbled at the weight of sincerity in the gentleman’s words, “Ownership over one’s fate is no small thing and you should be proud of charting your own course.”

“Fine words for one who is socially and monetarily my superior and has not the concern over risking one’s future,” retorted Catra, but she did so with a slight levity to her voice, her intent being to perhaps draw something out of the reserved gentleman.

“Indeed so. And as I have explained, such things come with their own obligations. But still, rivals?”

“We are, after all, moving in the same limited pool for our prospective partners.”

That actually drew a snort from the gentleman, Mister De Gray’s face adopting a strange mixture of pain and amusement, “Indeed?”

Catra chuckled, “Truly, you cannot already have forgotten our first… no…  _ second _ disastrous encounter.”

“It pains me to be reminded of my faux pas, but I was, I must reiterate, only intending to compliment a lady with no intent of receiving reciprocation of any sort.”

“You make a habit of propositioning eligible ladies without any hope of response?”

“Only the beautiful ones,” Mister De Gray retorted, face stoic but for a faint half smile on their pale features.

“Sir!”

“Are you not enjoying the distraction?” remarked Mister De Gray as they passed Catra again, arms linked at the elbow to spin briefly. Catra huffed then rolled her mismatched eyes.

“Hardly, I am having a  _ fabulous _ time. As Entrapta might say… a blast.”   
  


“A blast?”

“A sudden expulsion of energy.”

“I understand the term, Ms Moon. I just don’t quite understand the relevance to our current social endeavour.”

Catra stared at the blue-eyed buffoon and giggled. She checked herself at the noise as Mister De Gray suddenly grinned. Catra tried for a glare, “Do not say a word.”

“What, that you are capable of such endearing noises? I would advise you not let Beauregard hear you.. He might make insinuation that your acerbic exterior is an affectation and that you are, in fact… adorable.”   
  


“I am no such thing!” Catra felt a momentary dip at the mention of Mr Archer, but the gleeful expression on Mister De Gray’s face was so unexpected and alien it threw her for a spin. Again.

“The lady doth protest overmuch,” returned Mister De Gray, “But I will maintain my silence.”

“You are infuriating.”   
  


“Likewise, Ms Moon.”

“What is your intention here, sir?”

“As I said, the ongoing support between acquaintances. Is that so objectionable?”

“You are supportive of all your friends in such things?”

“I endeavour to be as much a loyal companion as I am capable.”

Catra regarded the gentleman, “Regardless of their moral failings?”

Mister De Gray smiled, “You have moral failings, Ms Moon? I sincerely doubt it. And if you did, be assured, I am a most discrete individual and would not besmirch your good name.”

The words sent a shiver of disappointment through Catra - it would appear that Mister De Gray was not unfamiliar with obscuring the conduct of his friends if he counted them as such. She was currently in that party; but that also confused her. If she was a friend, then why would Mister De Gray conceal something that would harm  _ her _ or her family?

Or perhaps he merely maintained a distance so that he was not overtly aware of the shortcomings of his acquaintances? Also, his prior dealings with Captain Hordak implied a disinterest in fulfilling obligations. And yet this jarred heavily with the character of someone weighed down by burdensome pressures.

She managed to stutter a breath and put forth a faint smile, “My character is without reproach.”

They did another turn and Mister De Gray frowned, “Your potential paramour is currently in rather intimate conversation with the Lucas daughter…”

“Ah yes. My own machinations.”

Mister De Gray blinked, then raised an eyebrow as the pair drew close, then parted in another rapid dance step, “Truly you are a woman of shrew social grace and a ruthless approach. May I ask what drove your choice?”

“A simple strategic view of things.”

“Oh?”

“Long term benefits. I could have been comfortable, secured. And that is the lot of many a woman,” they passed one another again and Catra swore she saw Mister De Gray twitch and swallow, “But that is a life half lived. A future of spinsterhood but with the freedom to pursue my own whims? I fancy that more.”

The cheery expression on Mister De Gray’s face clouded, but they nodded, “And as I have said before, an admirable aspiration. I hope you achieve it… and a… good partnership that you deserve.”

Catra chuckled, “Deserve is a long way off. I need to identify a suitable candidate. And these little affairs are hardly a prominent opportunity.”

The music drew to a close and Catra met those deep blue eyes once more. They held something within them, the way that Mister De Gray’s face had lines at the corner of the eyes, the crinkle of a happy frown between dark eyebrows. That damnable smile, the half smirk that hinted at self assurance coupled with a self conscious vulnerability. Mister De Gray bowed low, one foot forwards, “A pleasure, Ms Moon. Thank you, you have honoured me.”

Catra nodded and curtseyed back, “Indeed, sir. It was a distraction to be sure. And I will permit you to being an acquaintance, provided you commit to honesty with me. Full frankness, as I believe you posited?”

Mister De Gray straightened and nodded, “Indeed so. You are deserving of such, having been equally as forthcoming and unreserved in your challenges.”

“Wonderful. Then as an acquaintance, would you be willing to enlighten me as to why a Captain Wickham holds you in such stern regard?”

Mister De Gray’s smile faltered a little, but they nodded. Catra wondered at the speed of such a change in demeanour. If anything there was an almost womanly blush on the gentleman’s features, “You have spoken with the gentleman?”

“Indeed, sir. He painted less a picture of loyalty than you claim.”

“Mr Wickham is eminently capable of engaging in friendships. He is less capable in keeping them,” harrumphed Mister De Gray, “For loyalty, one requires a reciprocal element to the endeavour.”

Catra nodded as they moved from the floor. She had half expected Mister De Gray to baulk and stride away, much in the manner with which they had dealt with Scorpia. And yet the gentleman stood firm. Clearly discomforted, yet engaging with Catra.

Not the act of a cad or a blaggard. There was that stoic bearing, but a determination there.

“I will concede that the gentleman did not divulge overmuch. Merely that there appears to be an element of resentment there.”   
  


Mister De Gray shrugged faintly, “Our relationship was a transactional one towards the end.”   
  


“And yet he implied great friendship.”

Mister De Gray fixed Catra with a disconcertingly intense gaze, “And he was not lying. But for a friendship to survive it requires honesty in its dealings and a clear determination of expectations. Such things do not readily survive when exposed to unhealthy influences and poor treatment.”

Catra nodded, “Indeed. I do not have the full facts, of course, but I enquire in the name of our own acquaintance - can I expect similar treatment?”

The look of genuine consternation that passed across Mister De Gray’s features actually made Catra feel a sudden flush of guilt, “Madame, what can I have done to have elicited such expectation from you? I admit my own countenance and bearing can be... brusque, but I believed we had an accord. If you are still concerned I have nefarious intent, then please understand that nothing is furthest from my conviction and my soul.”

No one had ever spoken with such raw honesty in their voice, not to Catra’s recollection. Not even Scorpia, professing her deepest apparent love came close. It made Catra wish that someone feminine would speak words of such intensity of feeling to her. Those blue eyes ached with pain - but not pain of their own.

Mister De Gray appeared devastated that  _ Catra _ could be in pain. The young lady felt stunned for a moment as she watched the gentleman search her eyes for answers. She swallowed, “Sir, fear not… nothing… I… I am merely concerned. It has been a week of strange activity with this… engagement and I am doubting the intent and actions of all.”

Mister De Gray seemed to relax, then looked away, “Regardless, if I have in any way overstepped, please inform me. You were correct to state that your actions were not my business and that I overstepped. Such concerns are for your family, not some gentleman you know only in passing. I… I do hope we are able to continue as acquaintances. If I am honest, Ms Moon… your conversation is refreshing, in a room where so little is often said for the amount of words put to the air.”   
  


“It will entirely depend on the good conduct of our lives, I feel, Mister De Gray. As long as that continues, perhaps we can indeed continue as such,” Catra smiled, but felt the knowledge that this companionable contact would likely cease once Mr Archer’s nature was revealed. Mister De Gray was Mr Archer’s close confidant; his best friend. And whilst Catra and Mister De Gray had amiable conversations and a strangely close affinity, it would likely not last such a rift. Even if she did feel that strange compulsion and safety to confess all her sins and her worries to this frustratingly dour and enigmatic buffoon.

SHe couldn’t quite puzzle that one out. She had never been so close to a man, beyond her own father. To trust such a person based on a few minor social contacts and a thoroughly pleasant dinner? It felt bizarre.

“Ms Moon, you appear distracted?” Catra looked up as Mister De Gray frowned at her. She waved a hand.

“Merely dizzy for the dancing. I do not dance often.”

“And yet you do it well,” smiled Mister De Gray, “But I fear I am monopolising your time. I will not trouble you further. Thank you once more, Ms Moon. Have a pleasant evening.”   
  


As Mister De Gray was about to leave, they were stopped by the arrival of another. Mr Archer grinned widely at the pair, “Ms Moon! Other Ms Moon I mean… a pleasure! And quite the pair out there. Such a shame she is  _ entirely  _ not into you, eh, Adam?”

Mister De Gray’s jaw clenched as they regarded Mr Archer. Catra frowned at the strangely challenging look on the man’s face and she felt oddly offended on Mister De Gray’s behalf - Mr Archer was clearly not a good friend if he mocked Mister De Gray’s apparent attraction (Even if it was futile). And Yet Mister Archer didn’t seem to be mocking. It was as if he was urging something, given the raised eyebrows and intense expression on his face.

But it passed and the gentleman sighed and patted Mister De Gray on the shoulder, “Apologies to you both. I am just… glad to see that you are both getting along. Ms Moon, I wanted to apologise for not being a better host the other day and also being far too self assured with regard to my wellness. The scales balancing taught me that!”

“Learn to not over exert yourself, Beauregard,” chided Mister De Gray.

“You are a fine one to talk, sir. If you are not in your estates beating yourself to better your tenants, then you are on some other crusade. I was surprised that armageddon itself had not started when I espied you on the dance floor!” Mr Archer gave Catra a conspiratorial wink, “My thanks, Ms Moon - Adam needs all the help possible to alleviate the tension. You are, perhaps, the best influence on my friend for the longest time.”   
  


“Mister De Gray is certainly much improved from our initial encounter. Perhaps being saddle sore accounts for such a surly attitude?”

That drew a smile from the blonde, who nodded, “And what was your excuse, madame?”

“The lack of intellectual stimulation from a dandy on horseback.”

“Well, I can hardly be held accountable for Beauregard’s failings,” chided Mister De Gray. Mr Archer gasped in mock outrage and grinned. Catra arched an eyebrow and nodded.

“Such a lack of loyalty! Throwing your friend beneath the carriage.”

“The least the man deserves for such raucous behaviour,” smirked Mister De Gray. Something caught the gentleman’s eye and a frown ghosted back across those pale features. Catra looked briefly over her shoulder and spotted the strange blonde from earlier across the dance floor. She thought she caught a glimpse of Captain Hordak but the crowd moved and she turned back to Mister De Gray.

“Now you appear distracted, sir,” she remarked.

“Unfortunately it appears business from home has reared its head. Please excuse me… and thank you again for the dance Catra… I mean, Ms Moon,” Mister De Gray flushed, bowed, then moved away. Mr Archer watched them go with a frown.

“I fear I am needed also. Apologies for intruding, Ms Moon.”   
  


“Mr Archer! A moment, if you please?” Catra managed. Suddenly she felt her heart in her throat. Was she going to do this? Now? Amidst the social to-do of the county?

“Ms Moon?” Mr Archer’s eyes were all concern. He appeared adept at showing this feigned amiability. Or perhaps it was genuine and he just had a weakness for women?

As she looked at him, Catra knew that this was far too public a venue; the risk of a back and forth, or of being interrupted and things being overheard - far too much. Glimmer’s reputation would be sullied not by Mr Archer’s actions but by Catra’s. She sighed.

“I was hoping to gain some of your time. Tomorrow perhaps? I have a small matter I wished to discuss with you. Without my sister, present.”

The gentleman frowned, “...without a chaperone?”

“Do you fear your own advances so much that I might require one?” Catra challenged. Mr Archer grinned broadly.

“Considering I know that you favour people entirely my opposite  _ and _ my intentions towards your sister… you are quite right that one should not be necessary. At any rate, my fathers will be in the house. Of course, please call on me at your convenience. I assume it is to do with your sister? Am I to get a sisterly warning?”

Catra fixed her gaze on him and allowed herself a mirthless smile, “Truly, the men of the world are so perceptive that our womanly ways are as transparent to you.”

Mr Archer laughed and nodded, his face slightly worried, “Has anyone ever advised you that you are a rather intimidating young woman? If not, let me be the first to say it is both alarming and also reassuring,” his smiled returned, “But please, call one me at your convenience on the morrow.”

Catra curtseyed and Mr Archer bowed. She smiled again, “I will do so, sir. Have a pleasant evening.”

She watched the man vanish in pursuit of Mister De Gray. The blonde gentleman had seemingly vanished, along with the odd individual. That was another mystery in a chain of strangeness around the gentleman. She was on uneven terrain with the gentleman - her heart appeared stirred; her soul intensely frustrated and yet attracted to the strange gentleman. And yet her logical mind knew that the attraction must be purely platonic, albeit intensely so. She could not be falling for a  _ man. _

Couple that with the behaviour of Mr Archer and the odd relations to the gentleman’s past, it all felt far too much. Either way, her conversation on the morrow would put things to the sword in a rather final way - a severing of these interesting acquaintances.

The thought of it drew a sting that she had not expected. But like Mister De Gray had said, duty was often paramount.

She turned and smiled as she spied her sisters, clustered around a flustered and smiling Mermista. The moustachioed officer from earlier stood next to her, an endearingly besotted expression on his face. Catra chuckled: tomorrow would bring awkward conversation and confrontation. But tonight she could tease her sister for choosing so idiotic a paramour.

One had to take pleasure in the little things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped for MORE DRAMA - but the pacing did not sit well and felt rushed if I tried to squeeze it into the ball.
> 
> SO you get a flirtatious dance, Catra being SO OBLIVIOUS IT HURTS and Adam being PAINED.
> 
> (Also Bow just TRYING to get Adam to admit something... but poor Catra thinks hes being MEAN)
> 
> As ever, let me know your thoughts, whether you liked it, whether it WORKS.


	13. Ready, aim.... miss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A breakfast consideration of things.
> 
> A Reverend prepares!
> 
> And Catra makes her points known.

The morrow following the ball was tense. At least it was so for Catra. All others in the Moon household were aflutter with excitement and gossip; even Mermista, stoic and taciturn as she was want to be, adopted an air that was more girlish. At the breakfast table silence fell as the most sardonic among them let out an involuntary  _ giggle _ of all things.

Angella stared and then smiled, “Well, my stars. It would see that our little sojourn was indeed a worthy endeavour last night.”   


Mermista attempted to school her flushed features and flapped a napkin towards her mother, “Like, well, not exactly but… ugh.”

“Dearest, try not to try so hard? You know this back and forth is all rather pointless. Tell us! What of the gentleman?” Mr Moon grinned broadly and leaned forwards, “And when is the engagement?”

Mermista practically shrieked and sunk in her chair, “ FATHER! Like, no! No engagement. The man is a buffoon! He just was… y’know… really good at singing.”

Frosta cocked her head, “Was I completely distracted, or was he doing  _ shanties _ by the pianoforte?”

“Uh, maybe?” Mermista shrugged. Glimmer cackled.

“Oh he WAS! And… actually rather good ones.”

“Never tell him that. It will only encourage him,” groaned Mermista. Mr Moon smiled wider.

“So, we are to expect further visitations from the gentleman?” he prodded. This drew yet another pained sigh from Mermista, who blushed once more.

“I guess…”

“He’s in the army. Why was he singing  _ shanties _ ?” grumbled Catra. She pushed an egg yolk around her plate listlessly. The burden of her forthcoming task weighed heavily in her breast. And  _ other _ things appeared to be making their best effort to unsettle her.

Notably espying Mister De Gray near that strange blonde before the evening’s end.

Catra had managed a few other dances, mainly out of decorum; even one with Scorpia. And then Perfuma! She had shed her inhibitions and preconceived ideas about a dance  _ meaning _ something. After all, she had danced with a man.

It didn’t mean she liked him, or such rot as that.

Mermista glowered at Catra, “He says it’s because, like, he’s a free spirit at heart and that the ocean  _ represents _ that. It’s a metaphor for his soul, or some rubbish.”

“Your bearing indicates that you approve of said metaphor,” cooed Glimmer with a grin that was most improper, “But… if he’s a free spirit, why the  _ army _ ?”

“Apparently it’s for, ugh… inheritance. But he has plans to buy a ship afterwards, has a plan for some transport company.”   


“He wishes to go into…  _ business _ ?” Mr Moon wrinkled his nose, then sighed and shrugged, “Well, I suppose having a trade allows for a certain level of guaranteed income beyond an estate, especially if he is from only a smaller family.”

“And, like, apparently the army is a good outlet for his propensity for fire-starting,” Mermista drawled, then clamped up with a sudden click of her jaw. Mr Moon’s head swung back in alarm and he was about to speak when Mermista then most unceremoniously flung Catra, bodily, under the metaphorical carriage, “Anyway, like, my evening was  _ nothing _ compared to Catra! Setting up an ENGAGEMENT and dancing with the most eligible bachelor in the room?”

That snagged everyone’s attention, but Scorpia, who was also in attendance, was first to the line. It appeared that she swallowed an entire hunk of bacon in order to do so, as her words came out a little hoarse initially, “Mermy has a point! I mean, I thought you were a friend of Mara, Cat-of-the-wilds! No judgement, of course, people are supposed to find their own way in the world and working out what you love is all part of god’s great plan! Was that why you said no to me? If I’d known, well, shoot, all very embarassing  _ but _ if I hadn’t then I suppose I wouldn’t have had cause to attend that ball, which was  _ amazing _ by the way. My patron, Lady Shadow d’Weaver doesn’t hold with them - frivolous and indulgent, she says. But having been to one, well, I have no idea what she means! It must be a mistake, or maybe she just has no desire to do something on a small scale. Was that Mister De Gray as well? A bit rude, if you ask me, but it takes all sorts to build a world, as Perfuma says! And wow, she is amazing. I mean, thank you Catra. It’s weird, most queer, our circumstances - me coming here thinking you were into women, being rejected by you… which hurt, I won’t lie, I’ve always believed we shared a connection, a direct line, you know? But yes, having that happen, having my heart crushed, then going to the ball and you stepping up and introducing Perfuma… I mean, um… Miss Lucas… um, yeah so, yeah she’s amazing. I really should call on her. Today. Definitely. I mean, thank you Catra and congratulations with Mr De Gray. I mean, good luck there too - I haven’t met the man before but I know the family. Sort of. Via my Patron. So, wow, changes all round, huh?”

Silence befell the room as the Reverend tapered off. She smiled and set to with her eggs. Catra blinked and her jaw worked in a feeble way for a moment. Glimmer turned and cocked her head sharply, a mischievous grin on her dimpled features. Entrapta was far too preoccupied with a book to care; Frosta looked about to explode with glee. Mermista looked relieved and a tiny bit guilty, if the wince in her expression was any guide. Catra worked her jaw and managed a huff. But Micah was suddenly speaking.

“Three potential engagements, perhaps? My gosh! And, dearest Catra, your proposed paramour may be whomsoever your wish - your mother and I are entirely supportive of your decision, for if it is love, then it must be pursued.”

“Hear hear! Even if it be painful!” cheered Scorpia through a mouthful of egg. She shrugged, “I mean, silver linings and all! No hard feelings, Catra? Ms Lucas is, wow… I mean I am a lucky gal!”

Catra managed to sputter and flung up her arms, “I am NOT marrying Mr De Gray! It was a dance! With an acquaintance! An idiot!”

“Oh… so is it Hordak?” Entrapta glanced up. Her expression was strange - she actually seemed  _ interested _ in the answer. Glimmer looked at her usually quiet sister and frowned.

“Hordak?”

“Captain Hordak Wickham, formerly a ward of the De Gray estate. Rather interesting man, a fascination with engineering. Attached to the local regiment as their chief Engineering officer. We talked about the latest developments in Sterling engine designs.”

Again silence fell. But Entrapta kept her gaze on Catra. It was unnerving. The brunette licked her lips and shook her her, “Not  _ him _ either. He did have much to say on the topic of Mister De Gray, however.”

“And yet you still danced with the gentleman? Are you sure…?” Angella prodded with a faint smile. Catra kept her gaze on Entrapta. Her sister seemed to relax, her attention going back to whatever paperwork she was engrossed in.

Very curious.

Catra looked back to her mother and harrumphed, “I can assure you, my attractions and intentions have not changed. Mister De Gray is merely an engaging sort…”

“Who could guarantee you a secure lifestyle and future,” murmured Mr Moon. He winced as Angella shot him an admonishing glare, a rebuke in silent form, “I know, but I am concerned for their stability as much as the preservation of their hearts!”

The brunette placed her cutlery down carefully and shook her head. She managed a guilty glance at Scorpia, then huffed again, “Father, as I said before and both you and mother entreated to me - what is life if compromised? I could not do that to Scorpia… nor could I do it to myself. Mister De Gray would be a compromise of myself and… ultimately to the gentleman. He appears to be a good man, albeit flawed. I would not subject him to such a lie as to bind myself for my own security. That would be heinous.”

Mr Moon relaxed and gestured to Catra, whilst smiling at his wife, “And there we go. Our daughter is more than capable of reminding me of my words and defending her moral core. Catra  _ always _ tends to the right words, the right things. Our apologies Reverend, if that was painful. We mean you no discomfort.”

Scorpia waved a hand, “Think nothing of it. As I said, it was akin to having my still beating heart wrenched from my ribcage, for long have I imagined my future with our dear Catra. That, hooo, yep that hurt. BUT! BUT! I cannot fault her honest and integrity and forthright approach, even as a one-two emotional assault on my very being.”

Catra blinked and frowned at the Reverend, “I believe you have stated this. I am unsure what you now wish of me,” her voice carried a very impatient edge to it and Scorpia flushed.

“Ah. Well. I do seem to be… um… over egging it. Apologies, but I  _ must _ be honest as well… I say this to now convey how thoroughly enchanted I am by Ms Lucas. The anguish and agony,” Catra growled and Scorpia winced, “Was fleeting and immediately salved. Perfuma, in a single evening put much into perspective - my infatuation, my focus, due to no external influences, no others to whom I could reach out - all this led to my idealised view of you, dear Cat-of-the-wilds. And to that end… I would ask if you would do me the honour of being _my_ maid of honour at Ms Lucas and I’s forthcoming wedding.”

“W...what?” Catra blinked and Glimmer crowed, her hands clapping loudly.

“Congratulations Scorpia,” she gushed, “You have proposed?”

“Well… I will do today. TODAY! Yes! I will not dilly dally. Oh! OH! I must choose a new dress. And my best hat.! Gloves! Oh gosh. I really didn’t think this through um…”

Angella reached out to ring the small bell by the table, to summon the serving staff, “I feel breakfast is over. Girls, would you mind attending on the Reverend to prepare her for this forthcoming challenge. Scorpia, if you would permit me to attend with you, so I may also speak with Mrs Lucas?”

“I say, she’s my sister! I should talk to her…” interrupted Micah. Angella gave him a smile and reached over to pat his cheek.

“And a very good brother you are indeed. But do you feel you could hold neutrality in supporting dear Reverend Collins? Of course you may come with. I think dearest Casta might be chagrined at just myself.”

“She may be distracted by her new tenant,” chuckled Glimmer, who bit her lip mischievously as Angella arched an eyebrow at her, “What? It was both obvious and, frankly, heartwarming. The pair are clearly enamoured with one another. Even Catra noticed it.”

“Another word, Glimmer dear, and I will shred your favourite bonnet!”

“You will do no such thing Catra, oblivious as you are to all things. You don’t even know which bonnet is my current favourite.”

Catra fixed her with a deadly stare, “The purple one with the pink ribbons.”   


Glimmer squeaked and shot up in her chair, “You wouldn’t!”

“Don’t tempt me, oh sparkling-one.”

“Girls! Quieten down. You may bicker after we have rescued the Reverent from her self-induced hysteria,” All eyes turned to Scorpia who seemed to have become mildly catatonic, “Glimmer, Catra, Mermista… please assist.”

The two girls nodded and moved to help the Reverend away from the table, whilst the staff cleared things. Catra rose also, watching as Frosta and Entrapta vanished off into the house.

They set to work, picking out finery for the Reverend. Angella moved about the room like a whirlwind, Glimmer and Mermista terrifying in their focus in identifying suitable wear. Catra mostly picked a decent set of gloves to offset it all and fetched the Reverend’s hat. As the others wandered out to let the woman prepare, Scorpia beckoned for Catra to wait a moment. The brunette paused by the bedroom door and frowned, “You aren’t going to try another attempt to guilt me?”   


“Ah, um, no, that… that was pretty rough of me. I’m… I’m sorry about that Cat. Just, well. A lot changed in the last day. I thought I loved you. Well, no. I do love you. But I know it’s the love of a dream. Of an invention, y’know? But try telling one’s heart that?”   


Catra snorted and shrugged, “I can understand that.”   


“And well… I guess, maybe just watch that heart of yours as well. I’m lucky I met Perfuma, grateful you brought us together, but what if… if she is just… humouring me. Like you…” the Reverend trailed off. Catra rolled her eyes, then moved to sit on the bed. She took the Reverend’s hand and sighed.

“Scorpia - I care. I do. I may not love you in the way you wish, but I am not a heartless beast. You are a good friend. And perhaps I should have been a better one to you. I know you and I know Perfuma - she is good and kind and has so much love to give. And I know she would  _ never _ do that. She is as forthright as I am. Honestly, Scorpia, I never saw your letters as dedications of love because  _ you _ never set it down as such. I would have tried to be honest if I had known,” she scratched at the back of her neck for a moment and shrugged, “As I said, we could have been perhaps content… but I am not willing to settle for content. And nor should you. Now, enough of this wallowing, Reverend! Go forth! Have faith in your… Reverend-ness to entrance the lady!”

“Yes! I will! And… thank you Catra. For being honest. And for, well… not just walking away. You had the right to do so, the entitlement to reject and be excused. But you have done me two kindnesses. You… are  _ not _ a bad friend.”

Catra smiled then wheezed as the larger woman enveloped her in a bone crushing hug. She was released a merciful moment later, then managed to escape. As she was about to leave she paused and turned, “You said I should watch my heart…. Why?”

Scorpia grimaced, “I… I am not sure. But you know that Misterr De Gray is the nephew of my Patron, yes?”

Catra stared, “No. This I was  _ not _ aware of. I… you said she was a family acquaintance? I heard that…”

“Ah, well. Yes. But apparently there is some relation. Aunt is… I think the easiest short form term. Great Aunt, something removed, maybe. But I understand the De Gray’s have a somewhat odd history of late.”

It was gossip, which Catra said she could not abide. And yet she was interested, “Captain Hordak vouchsafed as much…”

“Indeed. I understand that Adam…  _ Mister _ De Gray was absent for several years. A venture to some overseas colony. There were rumours he was betrothed to some young lady there. That to marry would forfeit his inheritance. My Patron…” and for the first time, the mention of said personage drew a faint grimace from the Reverend, “has an interest in the De Gray holdings. But now Mr De Gray is returned and unmarried, the question of inheritance and ownership is no longer so murky.”

“How do you know of this?” murmured Catra.

“Ah, well… A reverend hears much. And, well, Lady Shadow d’Weaver has a fondness for wine. Her… ward keeps her in good supply of an evening.”

“Her ward?”

“Some waifish personage. I have only met them twice, on my visitations for tea. Or at least in the many occasions I have had to call upon her Ladyship, I have only seen them twice. But I believe she had planned to marry said ward to one of the De Gray twins. It is… more traditional in the north of the country. At least from the gentry perspective. And yet their ward I am uncertain… I have no idea to which of the twins they would be married!”

“Wait… twins? The De Grays are twins?”

“Yes, yes they are. Although Adora is a smidge younger, as I hear tell.”   


“And have you met this Adora?”

“No, I have not. I have not been invited to the Greyskull estates. It is several hours from her Ladyship's own holdings. Further north, too. But, as I say… be careful, should your heart have changed. The De Grays appear to carry heartbreak with them in their dealings.”

Catra nodded absently. A very queer circumstance - Mr De Gray having been betrothed as well? And having abandoned it? And his sister having been withdrawn from Hordak? And a complicated and potential adversarial relationship over inheritances?

More mystery. She bade Scorpia farewell and wished her luck, then made for her own rooms.

She had another task, made no easier by this new round of complicated knowledge. Part of her wished to know more; but she knew that this acquaintance with Mr De Gray was equally likely to end in turmoil with her next move - to confront Mr Archer.

Part of her wished she had met this mysterious and absent Adora - if she were akin to her brother, then perhaps…

Such thoughts served no purpose and she dismissed them as idle, wanting fancy. Blue eyes that made her heart pang; her confused irritation at observing Mr De Gray with another in close conversation - these were merely the frustrations of a new acquaintance that she knew she would cut short.

Any desire to be in the company of the  _ man _ , or listen to their light voice, or trade barbs and witticisms was because she valued their friendship. And that such friendships were rare and she did not share well.

It wasn’t as if she  _ liked him at all _ .

She had stated that already, she knew.

AS she muddled over these thoughts, she prepared herself with her most rugged of walking shoes and a suitably austere bonnet. Taking the carriage was not an option - it would both draw too much spectacle and be commented upon by her family.

Also, Scorpia was using it.

With her accouterments prepared, Catra squared herself in front of her dressing mirror and took in her features - frizzy, brown hair pulled into a mane of curls; blue and amber eyes set with determination; olive skin flush with anticipation and freckles visible. A deep red and black dress and shawl, with bonnet and solid, sturdy boots. She yanked on some woolen gloves and nodded to herself.

“Armed with the truth, I have naught to fear.”   


She left, offering a wave to her family as she passed the drawing room, along with a  _ requirement for some solitude _ . She got a few catcalls of  _ With Mr De Gray? _ , clearly from Glimmer, but managed to ignore them as she set out.

* * *

The walk to Thaymor House was not long - a three quarters of an hour at her brisk pace. The weather had held, so the pathways and bridleways were not churned with mud.

As she drew closer to the stately home, her resolve wavered.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind - the comment around  _ stability _ particularly prominent in her reckoning of things. Mr Archer and Glimmer had appeared the picture of satisfaction and joy at the ball. Surely that was not false?

And yet things were never so clear cut.

Mister De Gray contained multitudes - secrets and scandal and societal intrigue. A charming man, to be sure; but a good one? She did not know. Could not know. Yet she would not judge until she bore witness to things. Only his association with the cad that was Mr Archer besmirched his reputation; and that threw more of his attitude into a disparaging light. Like mirrored like, did it not? Two gentlemen well acquainted with subterfuge and deceit.

No matter how taken she was with his acquaintance, this only served to reinforce the idea that Mr Archer was an ill-sort and, given the chance, would lead her sister to ruin and unhappiness.

What was stability if encased within shame? Security if it entailed misery?A future with no horizons to look forward to?

The memory of that blonde maid at the door to Mr Archer’s room calcified her indignation into a spear.

Catra strode forwards, across the lawns. She spied Mr Archer on a patio, fiddling with something that looked almost like an instrument. It was only as she drew closer she realised it was a bow. Beautiful, it almost looked like it belonged on a piece of furniture - oiled to a mohogany sheen, beautifully sculpted, inlaid with brass and leather grip. The man seemed enthralled with it and startled as she ascended the steps to the patio.

“Ms Moon! Oh my gosh… apologies, you startled me. I am afraid Mister De Gray is away on business today. Called away last night.”

Catra blinked at that, “Oh? Again?”

Mr Archer wrinkled his nose, “I am afraid so. An ongoing and frustrating concern. I do wish Adam would… just  _ stop _ . All this,” the man sighed and slumped against the stone railing against which he was perched. Catra frowned at the sudden wave of frustration from the man.

“Stop? You seem frustrated with your good friend.”

“I apologise, Ms Moon. Adam is… a focused fellow. Always tries to do what is best, but does not consider the immediacy of things and perhaps how alternative arrangements might benefit the situation.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. If Mister De Gray were to expand the perspective with which the world is viewed, perhaps the actions taken would not be so… abrupt or painful. But Adam is stubborn.”

“Vexatious perhaps?”

“To a degree,” Mr Archer chuckled and shook his head, “Either way, I am sorry you missed them. Adam was quite enthralled after the ball last night. A thoroughly enjoyable affair. I thank you for bringing some light into Adam’s day. Sorely needed. And I hope something you can continue to provide… in whatever manner is acceptable.”

Catra squinted at the man, her voice tinged with slight scorn, “You seek to marry me off to a  _ gentleman _ ?”

Beauregard’s grin was almost rakish, “Hardly. Merely to provide support to an acquaintance in a manner appropriate to yourself. I think you and Adam are a better fit than either of you realise. Even if it is just as sparring partners,” he stood and moved to a nearby patio table, where he proceeded to wrap the bow in oiled leather, “I am sorry you had a wasted journey, though it is a pleasure to see you. May I offer you some tea?”

“I will not partake. But honestly, it was actually you I was intending to engage with you, sir.”

“Oh, ho? Is this the dreaded sisterly visitation?”

Catra tilted her chin and looked to the house, “May we speak in private?”

Mr Archer’s smile faltered and he nodded slowly. He finished wrapping the bow then led her inside, to the drawing room. He offered another bout of refreshments but Catra declined. She took a seat on the settee and settled her hands on her lap. Mr Archer stood by the mantle and watched her carefully, “Ms Moon, you appear distressed… should I call for…?”

“No. No. It is because the matter in which I must engage you is a delicate one. There are ramifications. And I will speak my peace and then leave. Ultimately, however, sir, I feel you must consider your position with regard to my sister.”

“Ms Moon!” Beauregard looked alarmed, and a little confused, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I feel it is in the interests of all parties that you cease your dalliance and pursuit of my sister, Glimmer Moon.”

Beauregard stared at her and blinked, “I… I do not understand.”

“Honestly, I am glad that Mister De Gray is not here. This is such an indellicate topic. Vulgar, even. I am speaking of your chosen acquaintances alongside your intentions towards my sister.”

“Excuse me?” Beauregard shifted and his face now sported an expression of surprised indignation.

“I feel you should be aware such things are not tolerated. Things may be more permissive in the city, but our family abides by more traditional approaches to matrimony and familial attitudes!” Catra tilted her chin. She  _ knew _ that he now knew of her own awareness of his proclivities!

Beauregard stared at her and then stuttered, “Pray, madame, I may have misheard. You do not approve?”

“After witnessing such a display on our stay here, whilst you feigned illness, I can safely say that such acquaintance will not be tolerated.”   


“You saw….” Beauregard ran a hand over his face, his pallor now grey, “And you disapprove?”

“Of course! How could I approve? And I doubt Glimmer would be at all tolerant, no matter how enamoured she is. She would feel sullied, betrayed by such associations!”

Beauregard gripped the mantle and stared at Catra, “I thought you, of all people, would understand… I… that Mister De Gray….”

“Mister De Gray be damned, sir. Your associations may go deeper than discussed, your contrivances are not my concern, only the reputation of my sister and family. Did you even consider her future? Her standing? Her own shame and dishonour should these things come to light? Too much to bear, sir. Too much. The social circle may forgive a man, but a woman would be sullied beyond belief.”

“I would never dream to hurt her!”

“And yet your actions indicate precisely the opposite  _ sir _ . I know what I saw and I know such things would be of immense discomfort and even heartache for my sister. It is my duty to inform you, now, in this manner, that your intentions appear perverse, dishonest and without merit. And I say that you should consider your next moves carefully. Currently this situation is becalmed, none are any the wiser. I am discreet and wish to remain so, if only to preserve my sister’s good name and honour. You may take your designs and proclivities for differing company elsewhere and ensnare some other poor woman who will tolerate such… debauchery.”

Beauregard stared at her with what could only be seen as shock and some faint hint of anger. It was, honestly, not surprising - did not men fall to indignation at being challenged? Especially if they could not protest their innocence; they would declare their honour challenged. But she was a woman - he could not call her out. He could claim that none would believe her, but honestly, his options would be limited.

Men could take action, yes.

But women could  _ talk _ .

And often that was far more effective an evisceration in society.

Of course, if that happened, then Glimmer would be destroyed. But if it came to it, a divorce and settlement would be preferable to misery. Or being in the family way with an absentee fiance tempted away by a stablehand or chambermaid.

“This is your honest opinion on the subject?” gritted out Beauregard.

“Indeed, sir. Honestly, I cannot fathom the intent, the attraction.”

“The attraction?” Beauregard blinked in surprise.

“Indeed. To such a lifestyle, in as much as the object. Perhaps a hope of better connections? Or of some more insidious intent, I cannot tell, nor will I dwell on it. So, sir, I have said my piece. And I will bid you good day.”

She rose and Beauregard blinked, then gave her a curt nod, barely a bow. Catra nodded in return, then stepped out into the hallway. Mr Archer followed, stiffly. He coughed and shook his head.

“I honestly thought you were a more open minded sort, Ms Moon. To judge Adam and I so.”   


Catra paused and turned to glare at him, “By my choice of partners? That I should be more  _ open _ to various dalliances? No, sir. Some things are just dishonest and debauched. And you, sir, keep good company with that regard. I hesitate to understand further. To even consider the relationship and possible depravity of Mister De Gray as well. Was I to be  _ Mister De Gray’s _ plaything whilst you indulged? Was that the rude assumption made? I had not wished to believe either of you so wicked, and yet… here we are. And I must concede I am saddened by the loss. I was fond. Fond of you both. But I cannot abide this. And I will not let my sister be wounded by such association and company that would harm her heart and reputation. Good  _ day _ sir.”

And with that, she departed, head held high, the fire of righteous indignation strong in her heart.

It was only as she was across the fields and the sky began to darken with impending rain that her fury began to ebb and she was left with the strangest sense of melancholy and a nagging concern in her head. Why had Mr Archer dragged Mister De Gray in at the end there? She had purposefully left him out, on the chance that he was unaware! Was Mr Archer admitting that Mister De Gray was complicit? Aware? That the man was an accomplice, or partook in such debauched fraternising with staff? Of course it would be more acceptable with Mister De Gray, as the man had declared no intention on anyone.

And yet why did the conceit of said gentleman making moon eyes at another young woman turn Catra's stomach so? Was it a shared disgust with the craven attitude that Mr Archer clearly displayed? Enjoying dalliances with impressionable maids? Was Mister De Gray a similar sort? And if so, why did the idea that such a pained, quiet, austere man being so inclined hurt her?

Had she become like Scorpia? Building an idea of a person within her head so that the reality was so jarring as to shatter it?

And about a _man_? Why was her heart so conflicted on this? It was if her soul, her inner self knew something, was convinced of _something_ that her raging mind could not comprehend, so conflicted with righteous and frustrated fury was she. Such conflicting thoughts - of loss and firm satisfaction - warred within her on the walk home. It left her feeling tired, wrung out like a dish rag from the scullery.

Of course, it was likely the mere passing of her enthusiasm that left her drained and morose. An unpleasant duty, but one that had to be done.

But why did she feel she had done positively the wrong thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote MARCUS DECIMUS AURELIUS FATHER TO AN UNFINISHED FIC, HUSBAND TO A CONFUSED PLOT!
> 
> ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!
> 
> SO much MISUNDERSTANDING!
> 
> Yes. Yes. YES!
> 
> Please let me know what you all think ;)


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